From Darkness
by Golden1willow
Summary: He was a legend who had everything ripped from him; She was a slave who climbed to the top. When they cross paths again, everything seems to smooth over. But the eye of a storm is very quiet and very gentle until the chaos takes hold once more. ( dreadwing x OC [ Maybe... I haven't decided yet, deviating plot, before rise of Unicron, Alien biology, gore, deaths, subtle romance)
1. Prologue - Part 1

**Hello readers! I apologize if this is an inconvenience, but I'm currently revising this story! this means that I'm getting rid of all the old chapters and reposting a new version of "From Darkness". The events are mostly the same, but the details have changed quite a bit after receiving some critique, and there's a drastic time skip between the prologue and the first chapter (mainly to get things going to the main plot rather than lingering on an introduction... for several chapters)**

 **Again, my apologies!**

 **I appreciate those who've read and liked my story, hopefully you'll like this version even better!**

 **On to the story ^v^**

* * *

 **Prologue , Part 1**

It's been some time since Dreadwing trudged the barren cities of Cybertron. It's luminance was starting to blend into the many stars peppering his memory core, swallowed by empty blackness

It's been years now since the Exodus, decades, even by Cybertronian standards. The home of the biomechanical organisms, Cybertron, lie a lifeless husk devoid of civilization. Anything unfortunate enough to remain there either scavenged through countless dead bodies or waited in stasis for the light to return. Any civilization once living there was now scattered to the stars.

And it was all thanks to that Prime, who robbed the planet of its core and shot the Allspark - the only means of producing new life - into some unknown region of space.

Despite no longer having a planet to fight over, and the war being disrupted, the fighting continues. In pockets of the universe, Decepticons like Dreadwing sought revenge for the Autobot's treachery and foolishness. If they preferred Cybertron's destruction over it's rule by Lord Megatron, they can perish along with it. It was difficult though, to execute such a thing now. The Decepticon army was scattered, the whereabouts of Lord Megatron unknown. Now even Captains, who commanded entire armadas may be left without a single soldier under them.

Dreadwing slit the vaccum of space out in the quieter quadrants of the galaxy. Blue and gold-streaked armor mildly gleaming despite being stained dark by the shadows of his vessel. Scarred servos confidently held the steer. Optics, hardened by centuries of war, scanned the galaxies for a scattered army, and a distant brother.

Not long ago, a twinge in the Seeker's split spark aroused suspicion that his twin, a great warrior and a Sleeper, had finally been revived from stasis where he'd been stationed to guard energon. It had been so long since his brother was able to roam freely. Occasionally his spark would poke and tug at it's more active counterpart, looking for something to chirp at until stasis rendered it dormant once more. Dreadwing looked forward to the day he'd see his other half again, hearing his hearty laugh and boastful stories. Skyquake may lack the discipline and tact that his twin was renowned for, but his daring and Pride served him well, nonetheless. He had a better spark than most gave him credit for, and after so long, it was good to feel it's liveliness again...

Unfortunately, Dreadwing was starting to have his doubts that he would ever see Skyquake again. Not long after the drifting Seeker felt his brother's revival did the vibrant presence start to ebb away. Ebb away until it was nothing but a cold, echoing silence. It alarmed the blue twin, to say the least.

His brother was gone? He couldn't be gone, not so soon, not so quickly. The Captain, if he could still be called a captain, had found himself blank, waiting for Skyquake's presence to return, confused, startled. Skyquake was a legend, undefeated in most battles; ordered by Lord Megatron himself to execute the Autobot Leader Optimus Prime. It couldn't be that after only minutes of being out of stasis, he'd been terminated. Dreadwing had to investigate.

And so he was here, traveling to Earth in his vessel, piercing galaxy after galaxy to find his twin. However, even so long roaming the dark, Dreadwing found that these were constellations poorly acquainted to him. He usually kept to areas where Autobots were known to slither. The Decepticon army may be scattered to the stars, but Dreadwing's duty still stood to terminate any Autobot that dared to oppose Lord Megatron.

Such was met when his systems picked up radio chatter; encrypted transmissions being sent back and forth. Intercepting the message was easy enough with his skills in programming and code; it was two wreckers arranging a meeting in the _Adromeda_ system. Long story short, the two were easy pickings with the help of a planted proximity bomb, but he didn't stick around to see them blown to smithereens. It would have been quite the scene if he weren't in a hurry.

The captain found his journey interrupted for a second time when an incoming transmission blared red on his main hub. The source was of Decepticon origin, according to his scanners, but he couldn't pinpoint where the transmission was coming from. It was a mystery what other Decepticons were doing this far out into space. Dreadwing for one hasn't come across any allies for years, He's been fighting alone since the loss of his armada before the exodus. The few comrades he's been able to scrape together since then were either lost to battle or had abandonded him for their own interests. Regardless, there was a strength in numbers, and any chance to have a partner to fight along side was one Dreadwing would be a fool to pass up.

 _"Overcast to unknown starbird: Identify yourself or you will be engaged."_ It was a deep resonance that came through his ship's comm. He couldn't recognize the voice, but _Overcast_ was a familiar title; a warship with a reputable crew.

Even so, Dreadwing had to be cautious, there was no telling what tricks the Autobots would be playing out here. It just so happened that the Seeker was familiar with certain 'Cons designated to the _Overcast,_ and this 'Con did not sound like their captain.

"Who is hailing me?"

There was no immediate answer.

 _"Do you want me to send out a squad?"_ A second voice spoke softly, barely audible over the transmission.

Dreadwing wasn't having any of that, " Send your squad and you find yourselves without one very soon. I will ask again: Who is hailing me?" It wasn't an empty threat. The Blue seeker was more than skilled behind a steer. He's survived ambushes before.

It was the first voice again, _"I believe it appropriate that you remember me, Dreadwing, I was your pupil afterall."_

Dreadwing blinked, caught off-guard by the revelation. The voice was throwing him off, making it difficult to quickly connect any particular memory to it, but he hasn't mastered many bots. Certainly none that sounded like _that,_ such a strange accent...

"Irestorm?" the Seeker tested, recalling the only bot he knew to have any speech pattern resembling this entity, "Is that you?"

The Seeker thought for a moment, still playing it cautious. The question left an odd feeling in Dreadwing's audials as an image of a stubborn, troubled soul had summoned itself in his processor. He remembered a short, thick-necked femme who's large crimson optics sat, practically burned into their place. She'd bare her fangs and scrunch her feline-like faceplates like the beasts she once fought in Kalicon. Her high-pitched click-like voice and the almost alien language she spat out half the time when speaking contrasted the smooth, purr-like resonance of the voice he heard now.

Dreadwing stiffened, he also recalled that she had been very young then, still growing though at an alarming rate. He'd assumed she was an adult by the time they'd gone their separate ways; they were looking eachother in the optic at a clean 180 degrees, and Dreadwing was well above average height for a Cybertronian. How much could she have changed since then?

 _"You would be correct. What has brought you here?"_

"I'm on a journey to investigate a matter involving my twin."

 _"Is he not in stasis on the Earth planet?"_

Dreadwing recalled that only a select few bots actually knew where Earth was. It was easier to keep an energon cache from the enemy that way, and it made sense that Irestorm, despite being his equal in rank now, didn't realize how close she was to it... _if_ she was close _._

"He is." The Seeker replied

There was a long pause. Dreadwing knew Irestorm to be more private about personal affairs; she wouldn't pry into this unless she considered him a threat. Either way, she was taking a little long to respond.  
 _"Very well, you may proceed."_ It sounded like she was about to cut the transmission off.

"I'm curious as to your whereabouts, if you'd be so kind?"

This time the pause was brief, _"I said you may go."_

"Yes, I heard," Dreadwing responded, "But it's been some time since we last met, perhaps we could be of assistance to each other. I could return after I have seen by business through." _  
_  
There was a noise, a subtle, thoughtful groan, as though she were reluctantly considering his suggestion.

 _"I'll have coordinates sent to you."_

The transmission cut then, and an encrypted code was received on his hub. It was surprisingly easy to decrypt, the coordinates indicating a small solar system nearby: three icy spheres revolving around a small star. He would visit shortly, and then continue on his way.

Docking his ship atop the landing bay, Dreadwing found himself encompassed by a massive war vessel, its breath an ever constant rumble of engines and generators. Immediately, two Seekers who guarded the entrance met him, tracking his movements with narrow, suspecting optics.

He followed them through the ship, one leading, one following him from behind as though they were guarding a prisoner of war. An occasional soldier darted by or stood engrossed in some task. On an upcomming arch there was a surveillance drone perched; it zeroed in on the blue and gold Seeker. In a deep mechanical voice, not unlike the old security technology the Autobots used, it called, "Suspicious figure detected - Profile: Cybertronian, Seeker, Decepticon, Designated Captain... - Identity Matched: Dreadwing of Armada 005... Accepted; you may proceed."

"You!" The guard ahead of Dreadwing suddenly barked at a soldier working on machinery beneath the wall's panels, his voice hoarse, "Get that drone fixed, it's too slow."  
There wasn't a single inch of the vessel that wasn't being monitored by surveillance drones crawling along the dark walls. Whatever was going on here, standard security apparently wasn't enough. A little along the way he heard something echoing down the hall, a noisy screech, like a saw grinding metal. If the place was as busy as it appeared, it made sense why Irestorm didn't meet him outside.

The three of them traveled down several more yawning corridors. Along the way several busy 'Cons stuttered in their work as he passed by, watching him with concern. Meanwhile, Dreadwing could practically feel the rear guard's gaze burning into his neck; by the time they finally stopped, the Seeker felt like his helm would fall off.

The front guard approached a massive closed entrance to what appeared to be a lab. With a sharpened claw he punched the keypad located on the right side of the doors, but didn't put in a code. Instead, he pressed the mic button.

"Captain Dreadwing is here, Sir," a still hoarse voice notified, and the three of them waited. Moments later, the doors were hissing open, drawing back to reveal... a mid room? The actual lab couldn't be seen, just the tiny room designed to filter any gaseous contaminants from entering or exiting the main facility.

Of course, Dreadwing soon found himself locked on the narrow red optics glowing from inside the midroom. Out stepped a massive Decepticon, taller than even Dreadwing himself. It was difficult to catch any details at first, as this Decepticon was for the most part black as space. A broad, rounded chest ended on either side with low-set shoulders framed by sharp plating. Between two thick, lanky arms ran a lengthier abdomen; armored on the flanks with a lighter middle. Unusual proportions placed the bot's generously wide hips almost _below_ if not at the same height as Dreadwing's own despite clarly being a helm or two, or three, taller than the Seeker. The other's legs were short and relatively lithe. They looked like the legs of a turbofox: balanced on the front stabilizers while the actual pede was lengthy and scarcely touched the floor. A heavy-looking tail, just a little shorter than those short legs, hung behind them like a narrow tapestry made of thick, blade-like scales.

At first, Dreadwing was on guard. He didn't recognize this... femme? The 'Con was clearly a Traveler, the beast-like cybertronians who were liberated from Autobot control, but this Traveler had optics smaller than Dreadwing remembered Irestorm's. They were narrower, and framed by decorative biolights. The femme's chassis was far more complicated compared to Irestorm's, darker too with silver highlights. The muzzle on her face was proportionally larger as well.

The Traveler spoke finally, with a voice purr-like and deep, "Hm, well I suppose a few things may have changed." It was the same accented voice from the transmission. That couldn't be - _this_ couldn't be.

"You don't seem to recognize me," The Traveler stated, watching Dreadwing closely. Though that foul-mooded expression was... oddly familiar.

Dreadwing was staring. He must look glitched.

" _Y-You_ are Irestorm?" he asked, not bothering to mask the disbelief in his tone.

"I am."

"... You've," the Seeker straightened himself, "certainly..." Changed? Grown? Mutated? " _developed,_ I can tell."

Irestorm gestured with a large, clawed servo - big enough to wrap around his helm with ease - for the two guards to be dismissed.  
"And I see you've remained your old self, have you."

The guards retreated down the hall with quick steps back the way they'd come, leaving the Seeker and the Traveler alone in the corridor. Odd considering that every other part of the ship was buzzing with activity. Suddenly, the Seeker felt even smaller. Being in a starbird for several years made a Warship feel like the out doors; when empty, the halls seemed to stretch on and on until they shrunk out of view. They echoed with the constant humming of the ship's generators and internal systems. Not to mention that Dreadwing was now dwarfed by someone he used to look down at. It was a bit disorientating.

"I have to admit, Dreadwing, after the Exodus, I had assumed you were dead." Irestorm's tone couldn't be more indifferent. If she'd thought he was offline she sure was doing a good job of holding back any relief. But then again, the Irestorm Dreadwing knew never was an open datapad... even if she had been an obnoxious brat back then. Now her mannerisms were definitely more refined; at least, from what he could see.

The white rings that once labled the center of her optics were no longer there. They were like his now, red-flodded, and difficult to read outside of obvious details.

The Seeker sighed, "It's nice to see you too." He had to readjust himself; this whole situation felt awkward, and not once had she looked away from him. It was then that he noticed spilt energon on her chassis, primarily her servos and abdomen.

"Are you injured?" Dreadwing asked.  
"This is not my energon; we have prisoners aboard, currently in the process of interrogation..." she drifted out of that last part of her sentence, shooting the smaller 'Con a peculiar look. "You may be able to assist me, actually, but it may keep you from your journey."

Dreadwing considered it, diverting his gaze in thought. His spark was starting to feel swollen since his brother's essence disappeared. It is told that when relatives or those bonded to you offline, there will be a snap of pain that rippled out to all they were connected to. This did not feel like a snap, but instead a dreadfully dull expansion of emptiness. It could be different for twins like him and Skyquake, who shared a split spark.

"Might I mention that we are currently in a state of emergency, Dreadwing." Irestom spoke with a hint of impatience, "You do not have the option of assisting me in this matter later. Choose to either stay or to leave _now."  
_  
The Seeker looked up, finding first that he'd underestimated her height again, and second, that her optics had narrowed slighly, as if he'd done something strange. Was he acting strange?

Dreadwing straightened himself again, tucking his wings a little more neatly.  
"I will help you, if it is urgent." He finally decided. The Seeker held out his servo, a common gesture of unity, and was only a little surprised when she took a firm hold of his forearm instead. It was the way she prefered to take servos. The sharp glare that she'd held towards him since his arrival softened, if only a little. At least here he knew that Irestorm was in need of assistance. He could not bare to discover that he had abandoned and lost one comrade just to confirm that another had been lost already.

"Initially, I preferred that you didn't get drawn into our affairs," Irestorm admitted, realeasing his arm, "but after some consideration, I believe your skills in programming and encryption would give us the advantage we need."

She accessed her communication apparatus, located between a large audio receptor and a heavy jaw joint. "Pinpoint, cover for me. Come." She gestured for Dreadwing to follow her down one of the main hall ways. As the Seeker moved to do so, Irestorm transformed, her body folding and twisting until she was reformed into a beast-like state. Heavy, hooked claws slapped against the floor as her body fell into a horizontal position on all fours. Her helm, while much the same, was larger now, and with a more simplistic design featuring a prominent zig-zag of sharp, heavy denta fitted against each other.

The Traveler set off with a hastey trot, forcing Dreadwing to run after her to keep up. Getting further away from the lab, the noisiness of working Decepticons returned, nearly drowning out their pede falls. Machinery hissing, consoles beeping, calls being flung this way and that. If there were too many bots in the halls they wouldn't hesitate to clear a path; a few mechs even ducked for them to jump over, as moving would mean dropping whatever they were doing beneath the floor panels.

It wasn't long before they arrived at the bridge.

Irestorm returned to her upright form as soon as they entered the massive room on the lower floor. An eerie statue of a mech stationed at a monitor watched them draw near without so much as a blink. His chassis was a peculiar white with occasional grey bits of kibble. Even his optics were colorless. It was an unusual scheme for a tanker, much less a Decepticon.

"Recently we've experianced a systems failure," Irestorm regained Dreadwing's attention as she accessed the automated data logs and system files, "Communications were down for approximately ten kliks, during that time we were unable to regulate, monitor or catalog incoming and outgoing transmissions. Tech failure and natural interferences have been ruled out, but we've been unsuccessful at tracking down an attacker, only-"

"Frag it all!" A defeated howl cut the Traveler off from across the room. Over where a cluster of monitors was flooded with error alerts, a lithe mech stood with anxious servos grasping his black helm.

"Insight," Irestorm called to the distraught 'Con, keeping her voice low, "You're relieved; go and rest, report back in three hours."

The mech jumped upon hearing his name, flicking a sun-yellow optic in their direction — the other had been replaced with a patch. Shakily, he nodded, " I... Y-yes, Sir," and turned to leave, but Dreadwing didn't fail to notice the brief glare tossed his way before the mech left.

"That was my communications officer," Irestorm reported, "he's been preoccupied with his work for days; that's the third trap he's fallen for."

The Tanker standing beside them suddenly left to take over where Insight was stationed moments before. Slowly but gradually the error notes started to disappear.

"And who is that peculiar mech?" Dreadwing digressed.

There was a short pause before Irestorm answered, in which she glanced between Dreadwing and the bot on the other side of the room, "Unofficially, my Second in Command."

"A former Autobot?" It was a guess. Dreadwing could be wrong, but all the Tanker needed was a bright red paintjob and he'd blend right into an Autobot troop. Unlike the sharp-edged, triangular-bodied Decepticon Tankers, this mech was boxy and blunt, practically a cut-out of the Autobot format.

"He's nothing to be conscerned about," Irestorm redirected, "we need to find the origin of disturbance. We know that this is an attack by indication of the false leads, but we're having difficulty finding a point of access, let alone an attacker. We are on guard for incoming ships, but without knowing what was transmitted during the malfunction, we could be waiting for a full-scale ambush."

"Can you not relocate?" Dreadwing took control of the panel, scanning though the network logs.

"There's too much damage to the vessel to withstand interstellar travel, and long range communications are dead."

"So no backup."

That was trouble indeed. There was no telling how many Autobots were out here, for all they knew the bulk of the enemy had fled this deep into space to avoid Decepticon detection.

Dreadwing set to work, typing away at the console to pull up access the status files and security infrastructure. As an explosives specialist with a favor for programmable bombs, Dreadwing was well versed in hacking and tangling devices and their coding. When it came to combating an Autobot hacker, it took extensive knowledge about their technology, as well as some imagination.

Behind him, a curious Traveler watched closely, weighing Dreadwing's shoulders down with her presence alone. Besides Irestorm's EM feild, a constant reminder that she was directly behind him was an ongoing, low rumbling rolling from her chest. Like the heart of an active volcano.

Dreadwing ran a destabilizing code through the communication system sending it temporarily into a clumsy fritz, and soon enough a blimp flickered into veiw: an encrypted irregularity, and a well hidden one at that. It resembled an uncommon Decepticon command signal; easily overlooked. Now to decrypt it...

"A hole," he concluded as after decrypting the data. That single entry point was all that stood between him and all of the damage done to the Overcast's cyber network. The explosives expert dove into the disrupted data, tracing it back to access from a console near a prison bay.  
"False readings, decoys, camocodes, all for just ten kliks of deafness." Dreadwing explained, impressed by the feat. Autobots weren't known for their technological savviness, not when it came to warfare.

"It says the system was accessed from a console near the prison bay," Irestorm reported, "yet there have been no reports of escape, and the surveillance feeds show no alarming activity."  
"There's a strong possibility that this was an inside job."

Displeasure contorted the Traveler's faceplates at that idea— a subtle scrunching of the plates along the top of her muzzle— but she replied with an even tone, "We'll take care of that possibility."

As she spoke, Irestorm's Second, the white Tanker, disengaged from his post like a drone detatching from it's recharge rig and trudged out the door.

"See what else you can find, report it to lab three, that's where I'll be."

Dreadwing nodded to her request, feeling her presence pull away as she left to return back to the lab she'd first emerged from

The Seeker wasted no time collecting what information he could to identify the attacker. Hours passed without his detection, but he did keep track of how fequently the white Tanker visited him to offer his assistance. Dreadwing would politely decline, but the mech would watch him for a time before finally leaving, only to return again later.

The information Dreadwing managed to find was rather peculiar indeed. As far as he could tell, the attacker was no mech, but a suerveilance drone? All the drones aboard the _Overcast_ were S-R1; the drone that had accessed the system was designated S-E0, a much older unit. Drones were sparkless machines, the only reason for one to be tampering with the ship is that it was hacked, and managed to get onboard the ship. They had to find it before it did anymore damage.

Swiftly, Dreadwing readied the latest of his findings to be sent off when proximity alerts started to go off, on the main hub, dozens upon of enemy vessels were starting to flood into to map. The alarms went off, blaring into Dreadwing's audios. He sent off the report before attempting to contact Irestom via communication channel.

There was only static.

"Irestorm, do you read? Captain!" There was no reply. Communications were jammed.

Suddenly the whole room shut down; monitors, lights, power lines, all lifeless in a klik. The entrances to the bridge could be heard closing, there would be no time for Dreadwing to catch one, it only took a second to-

"Please evacuate the area immediately, we are under attack." It was the Tanker's voice. Dreadwing and several others engaged whatever vehicular lights they had when the emergency power failed to switch on and began looking for the exits. Prying open one of the lower doors was the Tanker. He forced the plates apart with an arm and a leg.

The other soldiers and a few drones filtered out into the hallway, drawing their weapons as they did so. After making sure everyone had left Dreadwing made his way to the door when the tanker spoke again.

"Captain Dreadwing, Sir."  
"What is it, soldier?"  
"I've been instructed to assist you through this matter. Until further notice, I am under your command."

A sudden weightlessness came over the Seeker. That wasn't right.  
He peered down to witness his pedes no longer touching the floor. He was floating in zero-gravity.

Taking hold of the Tanker's broad shoulder to anchor himself, Dreadwing met the other's white optics with his red ones.

"Good. I may very well require some assistance."

* * *

 **To Be Continued in Part Two**

 **AN:**  
 **Comments/Criticism/Critiques are welcome!**

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	2. Prologue - Part 2

**_Prologue: Part 2_**

* * *

 _The cold clung to Dreadwing's chassis._

 _Within reinforced walls he waited for her return from one of Kaon's detainment center halls when the doors slid open and she walked in.  
"How was it, Irestorm?" he asked, standing from his seat, "He's doing well?"_

 _She stood over the threshold for a moment, unresponsive, sombered gaze locked on the damp floor. It seemed to always be raining in Kaon.  
The small Traveler stepped through like a ghost, tail dragging the floor limp as a cable. Instead of the usual strong stride, her gait stiff was and wavering until she stopped a few paces before him._

 _Dreadwing went up to meet her, worry sprouting after seeing the petrified expression in her optics. Surely she should be happy, after so long departed from her only family. He had though it appropriate that they made the trip, given her concerns, but the Seeker was beginning to think this was a mistake. He needed her to trust him.  
"Are you alright? Irestorm," He asked her. Her gaze shifted, crawling up is abdomen only to fall weakly to the side and settled again on the floor._

 _The Seeker placed a servo on her shoulder, attempting to comfort her, but also get her attention. The fact that she'd allow contact at all meant something was wrong, and what he felt sent chills up his arm, causing him to draw back a little.  
"You're trembling," alarm rang up in Dreadwing, "Irestorm, what did you see?"_

 _"_ I have to end it." _her native speech tumbled from her like datapads from a disturbed shelf, clattering with dread.  
"What do you mean? What is wrong?" Dreadwing took hold of her again, pushing for an answer, this time grasping both shoulders. She still didn't look at him. Instead her helm rolled back and her gaze slid to the side, narrowing as lubricant started to leak from them, pooling in the thick plates set around her optics before spilling over the edge._

 _"_ I have to end it," _she sobbed this time, optics widening. Irestorm yanked herself from his grip with a shudder, stumbling back though managing to turn around towards the doors she'd just come through. Her intent was unclear until her servos started to fumble for the blade latched to her hip._

 _"Irestorm!" Dreadwing ran after the young femme, not managing to grab her until she was nearly over the threshold, "What has gotten into you?"_

 _There was no reply. Her trembling only grew worse, so much so that his grip became the only thing that prevented her from following her blade when it clattered to the ground. The Traveler's frame shook with more sobs, curling in on itself, despair bombarding the ground in the form of thick tears._

 _Dreadwing was dumbfounded as to what he'd missed; what had brought the most stubborn femme he knew to crumble like this so suddenly, as if she'd been dropped and broken.  
There was a harsh inhale of her vents, so narrow a breath it sounded like a squeak, before a mournful cry tore through the Seeker's audios, _**"Brother!"**

 **When Dreadwing awoke with a jolt** , the first thing he registered was the chaos of his spark beating rapidly within his chest as though it were suffocating in it's own casing. His vents came quick and shallow, his servos clawing for something to grab. Why was he so hot?

A steer. The Seeker found himself staring at a steer, _his_ steer. He was in his ship, strapped tight to the pilot seat. How did he get here-?

"Gah!" Dreadwing yelped when his ship gave a violent tremor. It didn't help the helmache he had, but once the ringing in his audial receptors ceased, he was able to hear the alarms blaring.

" _WARNING: THIS IS A HAZARDOUS AREA; COLLISION INBOUND"_

Servo memory took the controls; after centuries of combatant piloting the Seeker was able to smoothly guide his ship out of the cluster of debris that had been barraging his starbird. When the vessel settled again, a body floated over his view, an Autobot corpse that jolted his memory.

They had been attacked, ambushed by Autobots just as the _Overcast_ had been rendered all but inactive. Dreadwing groaned as a headache started to swell in his helm, making it difficult to think. He looked out at the debris floating all around him: torn warbirds, pieces of decks, lab equipment...

Irestorm's Second in Command helped him navigate the ship as he attempted to regroup with Irestorm until they came across the enemy, who'd torn their way through the outer hull. It was a small party they'd taken down, but there were more elsewhere on the _Overcast,_ and certainly a fleet attacking from outside. The Decepticon grounders stayed on the _Overcast_ , while the flyers and Seekers took to fighting the enemy warbirds barraging the vessel. Dreadwing fought with them from his ship and had managed to take down several enemy vessels... But then... __

His plating flared upon remembering the sight; such a massive ship crumbling in on itself until it was engulfed in a bright light. _T_ _he Overcast imploded._ What had caused it, Dreadwing knew not, but if there were any survivors, he had to find them.

The captain scanned for Decepticon signals... fourteen detected. Only fourteen alive. _That ship had held at least ffifty 'Cons, not including vehicons, if not a hundred._

Dreadwing prepared to gather them from the wreckage, but mere kliks later, fourteen blinked into thirteen, then to twelve. He had to act fast, and in this mess, his ship would not be. Decidedly, the Seeker, unstrapped himself from his seat and opened the back entrance to his starbird. Though he'd be more vulnerable to attack, the Captain would be able to maneuver more swiftly in his vehicle mode. As soon as the door yawned wide enough for him to fit, he transformed and blasted off into the dead silence of space.

The closest 'Con was a ground soldier; by his appearance of a standard paintjob and one-in-a-million chassis design, he was produced by the Decepticon army. Barely conscious, the mech winced when Dreadwing took hold of him to bring back to his vessel and reached his only un-crushed arm around to cradle a leaking tear in his side. His small frame made him easy to carry back to the starbird, and he fell back into stasis soon after being lain on the one emergency berth the vessel possessed. The others would have to go on the floor.

The next 'Con was a femme, small, and heavily damaged. Before Dreadwing could reach her, her energon ignited from the sparks flying out of her chest. Seconds later she was a mess of limbs and bits flying in every direction, which Dreadwing had to duck under debris to avoid getting all over himself.

Dreadwing continued to pick Decepticons from the ruin. For some he'd made it just in time, for others he was too late. By the time he'd reached a familiar face, his radar was only displaying eight life signals, including the bots secured in his vessel. Irestorm's Second was found tangled helplessly in a mess of cables on the on of the upper decks of the _Overcast_ , half of which was still intact. The white Tanker was conscious, evidenced by his attempts to reach for his severed right arm _with his right arm._ Clearly the mech was in shock, but it didn't make towing him back to the starbird- with his arm -anymore difficult.

Irestorm was the last to be salvaged. To say that relief swept over Dreadwing upon finding his former pupil was an understatement. Every sign that she was alive, her spark rumbling, servos twitching, allowed the Seeker to vent.

Not that there was any air to cycle.

Swiftly, he towed her back to his ship, setting her down amongst the others he'd salvaged. Irestorm was the least damaged out of all of the rescues, the only visible injuries being some minor tears and a broken jaw, but she was out cold. Dreadwing brought out his first aid kit, taking from it the necessary tools to patch up a grounder's puncture wounds. Unlike with limbs, leaks in the abdomen were difficult for repair systems to seal off, providing the opportunity to bleed to death.

Dreadwing was no medic, but every soldier was given basic medical training. He'd be able to decently patch mortal wounds, but he'd need assistance and the proper tools to get these 'Cons up and running again.

Just as Dreadwing was moving on to the next rescue, his hub flashed with an incoming transmission. The Seeker jumped up immediately, expecting to find an ally on his radar, someone who could help. Anyone.

It was an Autobot warbird... okay, maybe not _anyone._

Dreadwing pondered accepting the transmission. In one servo, it could be a distraction; a trick to catch him off guard, but in the other servo, refusing could imply a preference to fight, and he was in no position to do so. Not with so many wounded on such a small ship.

Dreadwing checked his long-distance scanners, only one active enemy ship detected on the edges of his range, and approaching fast. He accepted the transmission.

"What is it that you want, Autobot?" the Seeker made sure he sounded lively and alert; the less vulnerable he seemed, the better.

" _Only your helm on a polished skidplate Decepticon scum!"_ that voice was familiar, _"Say hello to SeaSpray for me will ya?"_

He had to go.

" _WARNING: INCOMING FIRE"_ Dreadwing dropped into his seat and pulled the steer hard. His starbird jolted upwards, barely dodging a string a blaster fire. Unfortunately, his inertia dampeners weren't yet active, and the jolt was followed by the pained moans of a toppled 'Con behind him. He couldn't fight like this. Fortunately, the Seeker caught a glimpse of the weaponized energy dissolving soon after passing his ship. The one who'd shot at him was still quite a distance away, and if Dreadwing was quick, he could keep out of his range of fire. He- _They_ could still escape.

Without another klik wasted, Dreadwing powered up his interstellar engines and blasted off; it would seem that a few others would be accompanying him to Earth. For better or for worse.

* * *

 **AN:**

 **Prologue complete! It's really short but I'd still really love some feedback on it if anyone's willing ;v;**

 **hope you enjoyed, and if you like this story, don't forget to follow ^v^**


	3. Enter

_**Chapter 1: Enter**_

* * *

Team Prime had been well on their way to truly coming together as a team. Ever since they crashed here on Earth, pursued by the Decepticons, their numbers have been picked off slowly until all that remained were two small groups: the scientists huddled up in the cold forests of Russia - Team Cog, and the soldiers getting their tires dusty in the canyons of Navada, U.S., - Team Prime. Each group had no more than than six members, and recently that number had dropped.

When Cliffjumper passed, suddenly run through by Megatron's blade, Team Prime was delt a devastating blow. They were down one scout, one optimist, one brave young bot, one dear friend. Nothing was the same after that, even the ever acute and impersonal Bumblebee would be ready to battle whenever a transmission came in. The only one who didn't seem much affected was Arcee, who simply sighed and went on as usual.

It was at this time that mistakes were made, slip-ups which caught the attention of a lonely boy, a suspicious girl, and an unlucky fast food part-timer.

Three had been when Optimus started to crack down on them, if not to limit opportunities for their exposure then to have mercy on Ratchet's sanity. Humans were curious and talkative, but didn't cause any serious trouble. They were children, concerned with their school grades and peer quarrels. Though one of them had squealed themselves unconscious the first time she saw an alien, she at least had enough self control not to spill her guts to the world.

With the Decepticons on the hunt for supposed allies of the Autobots, it became a necessity to keep the children close, though not close enough to arouse suspicion in their friends and family.

It seemed to have done some good in the end, Bulkhead finally had someone to laugh with, and Bumblebee could get away from his duties as head scout when he conversed small precious things with his charge. Arcee's relationship with her charge was... _functional._ At least from what the others could tell.

It hadn't been until Jack went out of his way to save Arcee and Bumblebee from a sadistic hunter that the Humans were considered partners in the fight against the Decepticons rather than just an accidental liability.

And the three children couldn't be happier to help.

Under Agent Fowler's strict watch, the Humans worked together with their alien guardians against the Decepticons, unraveling devious plots, preventing doomsdays, and providing the occasional boost of "Go get'em" energy.

While the Autobots managed to secure staches of energon, the Decepticons numbers were finally starting to drop. Megatron's army of drones were slowly being worn down, new faces were appearing to replace the carbon-copy battle-class armadas, but they weren't enough to bring down a freshly-knit Team.

Everyday the Nemesis seemed to hover a little lower in the sky. Everyday the shadow it cast was a little smaller, Megatron was feeling that much closer to defeat... that is, until even more arrived.

Starscream's attempt to utilize a Decepticon guardian turned out to be worse luck than it appeared, and it had been Wheeljack to wave the red flag of a turbulent storm to come.

"Look I don't know what kind of cargo Dreadwing was towing." Wheeljack grumbled his recent travels and his encounter with the guardian's twin.

"All I know is that it was a slagstorm that I found him sitting in. It was an entire warship torn to bits out there, half of it was missing."

The hot hiss of Ratchet's torch welding a tear on the Wrecker's shoulder stuttered.  
"AH- Whoa! Hey! I need that arm." Wheeljack barked.  
"Keep still and you'll keep it," Ratchet hissed back, but his annoyance couldn't hide the unsettled look shadowing his face.

Optimus pondered, "Perhaps he was fleeing with wounded soldiers, though I cannot imagine what a warship would be doing this close to Earth that Megatron hasn't yet summoned it here for aide."

The question didn't linger long for Wheeljack.  
"Who knows," he dismissed. With a shrug of his shoulder he pushed Ratchet's torch away just after the doctor finished his work.

"Whatever mess he's in isn't gonna keep my blade from his throat." The Wrecker stood to leave, but Optimus blocked his path. A tone of warning marked the Prime's next word's.

"Wheeljack, your desire to seek out Dreadwing is understandable, but while upon this world, you would do well to follow my lead."

Wheeljack looked up at the Prime, unimpressed, "And why's that?"

Everyone went a little wide-eyed at the challenge. Bulkhead croaked nervously to his friend, " Jackieeee..."

"Look here _loose canon._ " Agent Fowler was the one to answer from one of the catwalks, and was fuming. "We have enough trouble with the Decepticons running around. We don't need a trigger-happy robo-samurai thinking it's okie dokie to light up a gas station!" he turned to Optimus, insisting, "You gotta keep a tighter leash on your people, Prime!"

"Tighter _leash?"_ The Wrecker turned on Fowler, coming optic-to-eye with the Autobot's Human liason.  
The mech growled, "Listen here, _tiny,_ I'm not one of Prime's ' _people'._ "

He moved to leave again, shoulders stiff and wiglets pinned, but Optimus didn't stop him this time.

Bulkhead was soon after him.

 **—**

"My liege," Dreadwing knelt before Megatron, his servos tense and frame sore. Never had he expected that upon arriving on Earth, the Decepticon master himself would contact him and ultimately come to their rescue from the Autobots.

"Rise, Dreadwing," the warlord growled, and the Seeker obeyed. He took in the sight of his master fully. Spikes swoooping up from his broad shoulders clawed the air; a round chest glared in the dim light, framing the insignia of their cause just over his spark casing. The power in the mech's thick arms and legs was as apparent and daring as the Warlord's piercing red gaze.

"You had quite the cargo. Tell me, what brings you all here?"

"I came here in search of my brother, or rather, to confirm his... demise." The Seeker declared his mission, armor set with determination. After everything that's happened it was refreshing to feel such a powerful presence again.

"But along the way I encountered the Overcast just before they were attacked."

A swooping optic ridge tilted on the warlord's harsh features.

"Attacked? And they were defeated?" He could hear a hiss rising in the great mech's chest, so Dreadwing was quick to answer in his former pupil's defense.

"The Overcast was still recovering from a previous battle when I arrived. It is unclear what transpired when they were attacked again after my arrival, but I doubt it was in the enemy's favor. Both sides were obliterated, my liege."

A hum resonated as Megatron thought about Dreadwing's response. He seemed content enough with the answer not to push for more details, and instead offered another inquiry.  
"And how did you come to learn of Skyquake's passing?"

The words stung in the Seeker's audio receptors, but he couldn't dwell on it before answering his master's question.

"Skyquake and I are twins milord: two halves split from the same life force. Even across the stars we can hear each other's thoughts, feel eachother's joy, and pain, but now there is a void, a silence I have never before experienced. It swells within my being like a disease."

Megatron was thoughtfully silent for a moment. Dreadwing had never been in close proximity with him before, it was truly an honor to finally be in such an awe-inspiring presence. However, the Seeker did not expect him to be _here_ of all places where his brother had perished. When the Warlord spoke, he listened carefully for the answer.

"Skyquake did indeed perish some time ago, though not under my leadership." His voice took a venomous turn, but it was not directed at the Seeker.

"After Starscream abandoned me during a space bridge implosion, he assumed my death, and my role as Master. It was his grand idea to pluck Skyquake from his chamber and throw him at the Autobots as though it would solve everything."  
The warlord was clearly frustrated, his claws clutching into fists. Loosing such a successful warrior and such a valuable cache of energon was in no way inconsequential.

"At the moment, Starscream's whereabouts are unknown."

Dreadwing's engine flared at the revelation, "I understand," his voice shook, but not with grief; rather, with anger. His brother's perishing had been the result of that obnoxious Seeker's common foolishness.  
Dreadwing had never been fond of Starscream, even as an elder, but this was a mistake that would loose him his head.

—

Knockout had to give himself a little pat on the back. It's been a while since he repaired a real Decepticon, but his talent for meddling was none the worse for it. Not that he was working on a Decepticon right _now._

"Will she recover?" a metallic, rounded voice worried beside him. It was his current patient: a Tanker of Autobot origin. The frame type was a dead give-away, but not as much as the battered Autobot insignia still clinging to the mech's right shoulder. It was almost impossible to make out from a distance. The eyes had been scratched out, splitting the symbol in two.

"I'm guessing you're new," the medic purred instead of answering the Tanker's question. He reconnected the different components of the mech's arm. Having needle-like claws was particularly useful for this kind of work. His patient looked away from watching Breakdown, who assisted a nauseous Traveler into a radiation scrubber.

"Excuse me?" The larger mech's pale optic ridges pressed together as he turned his heavily armored helm to look down at the red sports car.

Knockout tapped the mech's insignia with a claw as he let the other's arm down slowly.

"I could get this changed for you, as well as a new paintjob. I think a nice Black and smoky scheme would do you justice."

He picked at the blasted white paint that seemed to be his only color, and it wasn't even that. Such horrendous condition.

"I'm fine," was all he said disappointingly.

"Well, I still can't let you keep the badge if you've pledged to the Decepticon cause. It's protocol to have it removed entirely."

"My commander will handle it," came another dismissal.

Knockout decided to leave it at that. He wasn't going to risk setting off a tank in his medbay. Been there, done that.

"Suit yourself. Breakdown! Are you done over there?"

Breakdown stood before the three occupied scrubbing pods, staring through the protective field that contained the largest patient. The powerful black body twitched and trembled uncontrollably. The aimless white rings of her optics were dilated so wide that they took on a freaky, _alien_ appearance.

"Come help me catalog this unit. His parts are probably worth a fortune."  
Breakdown heeded his boss' call, looking away from the disturbing creature.

Knockout eagerly strode across the room to a still body laid out on one of the berths. It was an outdated model used long before vehicons became the new canon fodder. Who knows what others would be willing to pay to have parts that couldn't be found anywhere else?

His big blue assistant gave him an unimpressed look.

"Who's gonna want this old can?"

"Collectors, anatomists, old sputters like Starscream."

Breakdown laughed at the last part.

"If we can just get him approved for salvaging, we'll be good to go."

The White tank behind them watched silently as the two schemed. So it was true about Decepticons breaking their own for spare parts. He couldn't say he was surprised though. Knockout seemed like a relatively young mech, his partner even moreso... either that or the blue grounder was just less intelligent.

 _They're going to take 13 apart for spares._

He waited; understandably, the response wasn't immediate. He could feel her pain, her struggle to stay conscious and self-controlled. A brief flare hit him, but quickly died down and rumbled against his consciousness.

 _—_ _Offline?_

 _Negative, but damaged. The medic seeks approval before begining salvage._

— _Do not engage unless nessesary..._

 _Understood.  
_

—... _Our location?  
_

 _Unknown  
_

— _Collect information, but don't draw attention to yourself.  
_

 _Understood_

He glanced over at the radiation scrubber, noticing his commander straightening herself in the stand. She was still out of it but more aware, more focused.

"We'll have to make some repairs before putting him in stasis lock," Knockout instructed is assistant, examining 13's crushed arm and abdominal wound.

"This one doesn't have as much radiation on him as some of the others," Breakdown scanned, "It should dissolve on it's own without causing much damage."

He listened to their analysis closely as they went to work. They spoke of blueprints and tesseract explosions, paint-jobs and old joints, injuries and repair plans. Autobots and "Earth" and _Megatron._

The Tanker could only recall blurry bits and fractured pieces of the journey to this place, and from that context he would have to assume that they had been taken from the Overcast. Perhapse it had been destroyed.

A quick scan of the room allowed him to see everyone who'd been salvaged from the attack:

Wild Woofer was soundly in recharge on one of the medical berths, just a little scuffed up from the battle.  
Lock and Jostle's slim, lanky frames could be recognized in the scrubber pods. They were unconscious, but from where the Tanker sat, their vitals looked stable.

Piston was starting to stirr on his berth, and would probably be waking soon if his whimpers were any indication.  
Rotor sat impatiently on his berth with a patch over his chest.  
Finally Irestorm was being stabilized by the scrubbers while GS-13 was being repaired for disassembly.

How distant they were from their prior location had yet to be clarified.

As he made these observations, the tanker checked his internal systems, not fully trusting this ship's medic. Not when he himself was easily a questionable guest here. Internal diagnostics showed no major injuries, any internal wounds that he may have had were fixed, and his arm was properly reinstalled into his shoulder servos.

Eventually a visitor entered the room. Two visitors.

Megatron was the first to step through with his sharp, red gaze scanning.  
Dreadwing followed soon after, conscerned for his rescues. He had not seen any of them since they were taken from his ship to be repaired.

The Seeker caught sight of several Decepticons in radiation scrubbers, while the rest of his salvage were on various berths, only two fully awake as of yet. The closer one was the white Tanker who has assisted Dreadwing during the attack, and he was just realizing that he didn't know the mech's name. The other was a massive aerial bot. A carrier class vehicle it would seem, but not quite. He wasn't built for speed, that was for sure.

"I humbly greet you, Lord Megatron." The Tanker's white optics ghosted over Dreadwing and Megatron as he stood before kneeling at Megatron's feet. The Flyer behind him did the same.

"A humble greeting indeed, Autobot."

Much to Dreadwing's surprise, Megatron clamped his claw down around the white tanker's throat lifting him into to air. The smaller mech choked at first, but quickly stilled his struggling.

"I am curious as to how the likes of you managed to become Irestorm's second. You must be quite the impressive specimen."

The warlord's grip didn't loosen, and his captive didn't attempt to speak. Dreadwing watched in silence as the two locked optics. The Tanker's took on an intensity that Dreadwing hadn't seen before, a blank intensity.

A smirk then appeared on the warlord's scarred lips, "Though I'm sure my pupil has her reasons." The Tanker was dropped. He was quick enough to catch himself as soon as his pedes hit the floor, and stepped to the side out of Megatron's path, seemingly unfazed.

The flyer remained kneeling until Megatron passed him and got to his pedes without saying a word

"Ah, Milord?" Knockout chimed from across the room with a glow about him. Megatron turned his attention to the call.

"I was just about to submit a request to salvage this one," he patted the patched-up body of a soldier, "he's long out-dated."

"Of course not," Megatron hissed, causing the sport's car to jump, "Do you really think this mech would still be in one piece if he were not useful?"

Knockout laughed in careful agreement, "Aha, of course! How foolish of me, Milord."

The warlord passed the many full berths, trudging past unfamiliar faces without so much as a glance until he stood before the occupied radiation scrubber near the back of the lab.

From behind the protective field, Irestorm was clearly awake, though not in the best condition. Her jaw was not fully repaired, and rested loosely on a quickly bolted brace. Lifting her helm to meet the warlord's gaze clearly took a bit of strain, but her gaze was solid and fully aware.

A chuckle shook Megatron's shoulders and a toothy grin split the scars running down his face.  
"This is a glorious day indeed." He hummed.

* * *

 ** _AN: Sorry about the long wait!_**

 ** _I was going to have this chapter go back in time before the events of the prologue to establish team dynamics on Earth, but if ended up taking way to much time that I didn't feel like giving anymore of so I decided to delve into that stuff later on in the story._**

 ** _Thanks for reading, please leave a review, constructive critiscim is always appreciated :D_**

 ** _And if you like this story, don't forget to Follow!_**


	4. Initiation

_**Chapter 3: Initiation**_

* * *

Onboard the Nemesis, the medibay was the topic of interest as of late. After so many years relying on vehicons, their chances of wiping out the Autobots had suddenly skyrocketed. For some, old memories that had been drowned out by the chaotic demands of war were now bubbling up uninvited, and now upon this mundane, yet somehow valuable planet, those memories needed to adjust to their new environment.

Megaton was a tall, polished figure of grandeur and might, as he had always been. Merely standing in the medical bay, he drew all eyes on him through the weight of his presence, and near-completely blocked the entirety of Irestorm's looming frame from view. With a hum, the warlord skimmed over the status projections one last time before finally speaking directly to the captain on the other side of the the contamination field. Everyone behind, dotting the medical bay, remained quiet as he spoke.

"How are you feeling?"  
His optics, sore with frustration and anger, locked onto their remedy: a traveler of prestige and promise.

Irestorm let her ringed optics hide behind shadowy shutters. The traveler rolled her shoulders and tilted her helm, testing the previously spasming servos and hydraulics that connected it to her chest and shoulders. Clawed digits balled and stretched experimentally. The widespread prickles along her circuit nodes were now dulled to a gently ebbing ache, which was good news considering her condition just kliks before.

"Better." Her reply rumbled, but it was soft and restrained. Every movement of her jaw currently relied on the brace supporting it, and thus had to be carefully calculated.  
When she opened her optics again, the rings had disappeared, but a subtle shift of her optical lining indicated a brief glance in Dreadwing's direction before returning to Megatron.

"If I may request, my liege, I would like to know the status of my vessel."

"Dreadwing has informed me that the Overcast was destroyed." Megatron replied with interest painting his tone, "You and your crew have quite a story to tell, one that I certainly look forward to extracting. However, as I am certain you understand, Irestorm, you must follow _my_ lead as of now. You and Dreadwing will remedy our little situation on Earth nicely, and I will see to it that your underlings are utilized to their fullest potential."

Dreadwing could only wait quietly for Irestorm's response, which was quickly starting to feel inappropriately postponed. nearly a klik went by without a word, just her looking at him with that indecipherable expression.  
A flat chime of the pod indicated the completion of the scrubbing process; the whirring mechanisms inside came to a halt, the field deactivated, and Irestorm stepped down from the stand. Megatron didn't step back to give the nightly giant a little more room, resulting in barely a step of space between them. Their E.M fields mushed into each other, combing and weaving through familiar signals of the other.

"Stoic, yet evasive, as always," Megatron smirked.

Standing at full height, Irestorm could have looked directly into Megatron's optics without tilting her helm at all; but instead, her gaze was kept lowered.

Dreadwing noticed an odd shift in the femme's demeanor. In addition to a downward tilt of her helm, her gaze fell to somewhere around Megatron's knees, and her shoulders relaxed. Megatron watched fondly with his smirk only widening as she knelt before him and purred in reply.

"It would be the pleasure of my underlings and I to serve your demands, my liege," she had miraculously managed to make herself appear physically smaller than the gleaming gun-metal warlord. However, even with her brace forcing her words to be gently spoken, they still held a sickly-sweet promise of strength and reliability that only added to the refreshed clarity of her EM field and powerful hills of her shoulders and back. There was no hiding the devastation she could bring on any given enemy. But it was made clear that the spotlight was Megatron's, and Megatron's alone.

* * *

When Megatron finally left, Irestorm's frustration was made clear by the light snap of her tail against the medibay's floor. She stood, eyeing every one of her crew with only growing distaste. 76 operational soldiers, scientists and staff, and only these few survived?

"Rotor," She rumbled, getting the only conscious flyer's attention, "Wake the others, all of them."

As Rotor moved to comply with a mischievous grin spreading across his features, Dreadwing turned to Knockout.

"Medic," He called to the red sports car who'd just recently lost all interest in dealing with any of them.  
"How long until they are cleared for duty?"

" _Well,_ your sleepers over there are good to go, their insides are a little shaken but it's nothing their repair systems can't fix themselves."

Rotor slapped each of his servos down on a berth loudly, "Rise'n shine, lug nuts!" He barked, both of his crew mates jumping awake and falling off onto the floor.

" _That one,_ however,has to stay off his engines for a while," the medic continued, "Unless you _want_ to blow-up mid-flight. By all means, be my guest." Knockout added the last part when Rotor gave him an accusing glare.  
"You're lucky you didn't end up like cobwebs over here. Megatron'll gut me if I let him run off without complete clearance."

Rotor huffed, "Pfft, Whatever you say, pipard."  
" _What?_ "  
"You heard me."  
Breakdown, standing beside Knockout, turned to the taller mech with a growl, "Maybe we should put you under again." The blue mech's servo transformed into a war hammer, his arm visibly tilting as it's weight shifted.

"I won't repeat myself." Irestorm stated, having moved to one of the consoles to access a map of the ship's layout. Rotor's hostility quickly switched off with a fearful glance. He huffed again under his vents, and flicked his wings dismissively as he continued towards the two pods in the back of the lab.

With the other two decepticons standing idly by, Dreadwing tread over to Irestorm's side. He had to say that despite the rowdiness of her underlings, he was impressed by her control over them.

"Lord Megatron has informed me that the heading of your troops will be split between you and me," he told her with his voice low. He wasn't sure how she would respond, but he wanted her to know ahead of time so that there were no surprises.

Her optic ridges furrowed, "It's an understandable decision, given our circumstances." She closed the schematic and opened access to to the ranking system. The profiles of the rescuees had already been uploaded into the system, but their assigned roles had yet to declared. These pending branches would likely be clarified during a meeting, which only high-ranking officers would attend.

Without hesitation, Irestorm proposed her own set up, matching three profiles to her command, and three to Dreadwing's. One of the profiles had been moved from scout cadet to engineering, it was the small flyer who'd been trembling in stasis.

"Why engineering?" Dreadwing asked.  
"Because he's an engineer."

Irestorm submitted new the proposal, which was almost a complete contradiction to the one before it. Raising an optic ridge curiously, the blue and gold Seeker reached up to open the profile:  
 _Piston - Verosian Military engineer assigned to the Overcast 2047 ano-cycles ago._  
It also detailed other information such as when he emerged from the Well, where he studied and worked, his arrest record...

" _You certainly don't waste time."_ The warlord himself appeared on the screen, and Dreadwing immediately greeted him.  
" _I've reviewed the profiles of your troops and have to say I look forward to hearing your argument in our upcoming meeting. Until then, I would encourage you to keep a close optic on them. That goes for you as well, Dreadwing."_

"Of course, Master." The Seeker bowed his head respectfully as the transmission ended. As soon as it did, Irestorm immediately went on to the layout of the ship's personnel. At the top was Megatron as lord and master of all decepticons, where he'd been since their beginning for over four million years. There were only two other ranks that had ever been occupied for nearly as long: Chief Communications Officer, currently and only held by Soundwave, and Second in Command, held longest by the infamous Starscream and now occupied by a new face, or rather a familiar one.

Dreadwing's optics went wide upon seeing Arachnid in the traitor's place. The mischievous femme herself had deserted the cause long ago for her own selfish pursuits; a deserter replacing a deserter. Beside the seeker, Irestorm had visibly frozen, shoulder blades tensing towards her spinal strut.

"Of course she would rejoin now of all times," the constant rumbling in the Traveler's chest became sharp, but her expression did not change. At first, it was tempting to ask her to elaborate, but her meaning was rather easy to grasp. During the War, Arachnid had been a valuable asset to the Decepticons, both as a subject of research and as an interrogator. Her wittiness and unique abilities were the only things allowing her betrayal to go unpunished, and now was a better time than ever to worm her way up the ranks, because there were no ranks to worm through.

Aside from Knockout and Breakdown recently taking on the role of medical staff, there were no soldiers, no engineers, no-one, just a long list of profiles in the 'Offlined' subsection. Everything was carried out by servant-class vehicons, even combative roles normally taken by warrior-class vehicons.

A weak cough sounded behind them, "Can someone bring be me a cold cube of _star dust_ , please?"  
Irestorm's E.M field took an odd, bubbly turn, one that made Dreadwing's flare with startled curiosity. Immediately stepping away from the console, the traveler looked around for the source of the (rather inappropriate) request and her E.M field swirled when her gaze landed on the very mech Knockout had been wanting to sell for antique parts. Interested by the otherwise invisible reaction, Dreadwing watched as she approached the other mech's berth. The small, out-dated sports car smiled warmly as she came into his view, his vocalizer worn and foggy with age as he greeted her.

"Oh! Haha, well I guess you'll do too."

"How well are you functioning, Thirteen? Is your arm operational?"  
"There was something wrong with it?" The small mech lifted his arm, both of them, and tested his servos, " I suppose the funky-looking one is what you're talking about. But I feel fine. All I remember was that I got shot... three times. Then something happened. Well, lots of things happened I'm sure, but... I remember seeing the Overcast in pieces. Did that really happen?"

The mech looked around the lab, particularly focusing on the ceiling. His face dimmed a little, "I know that Forecaster was always peeved about laser drawings on his ceilings... but I don't think he'd be very happy were he to see what I'm seeing."

Dreadwing reopened the proposal Irestorm had submitted. This ancient mech, designated Ground Soldier 0013, had been placed under Dreadwing's charge, even though she seemed so fond of him. The Seeker noticed that she'd also placed the white tanker under his branch as well. Only more curious now, Dreadwing opened his profile, but it was almost completely void of any information; all it contained was a name, _"Diamond",_ when he'd Emerged from the Well, his Autobot designation, Tanker 630-F and when he'd defected from the Autobots.

"One-thousand five-hundred seventy-four ano-cycles?" Dreadwing was taken aback under his vents. He glanced over his shoulder to see if there was anything he'd missed on the Tanker, perhaps he'd mistakenly identified the damaged insignia. Dreadwing had assumed that the odd mech's Autobot life had been a rather recent one. What's more was that the duration between his emergance and defecting was practically non-existent: two ano-cycles.

"Wild Woofer and Diamond left only a few kliks ago." Irestorm spoke to GS-13 as he sat up. "Not many of us were recovered from the battle, but the site has yet to be investigated."  
The smaller didn't say anything in reply, he only stood there frowning in thought until his gaze wandered in Dreadwing's direction.

"OH!"  
Alarmed, Dreadwing turned his attention to the dated mech who was now approaching him excitedly.

"You're... _Him!_ " the smaller turned back to his current captain, "This is him right? 005 Armada Captain?" He then looked back at Dreadwing in awe without waiting for an answer (that wasn't going to be given anyway).

"I'm not sure how long it's been since you've seen each other; in fact, last I heard, you and your armada had perished, but I've come to adopt Storm as my child of sorts and I wanted to thank you myself for everything you've done for her. She's very fond of you."

"..." Dreadwing's processor went a little blank at the mech's words. Briefly he glanced over the other's helm to Irestorm across the lab, but she was talking to the newly revived twins with clicks and chitters.

"May I hug you? Just a bit?" GS-13 regained the blue Seeker's attention, or rather it was the absurdity of his question, to which he answered promptly.

"You may not."

When Bulkhead returned, he was alone and disheartened.  
"Well?" Ratchet was the one to question him.

"Gone," was all the reply he got. Bulkhead ignored the relived sigh from the medic as he returned to his notes, but Optimus was not so satisfied.

"I know you and Wheeljack were close," the Prime acknowledged.

" _Were,_ " Bulkhead grumbled, his thick helm armor shifted with worry. He looked down, remembering Warpath and Trudge. All the warriors they'd lost on this planet alone, all the friends he'd failed to protect. Megatron was feared for a reason, he was ruthless and seemingly unkillable, and now Wheeljack was tailgating one of his most loyal and feared officers. Bulkhead had tried to convince his friend that it was better for them to stick together, but he wasn't buying any of it, not to Bulkhead's surprise. Wheeljack hadn't been able to tolerate Ultra Magnus, he definitely wasn't going to jump in with the guy who was his superior, not without a miracle of convenient events.

Ironically, Optimus would have to be the one to prove himself if Wheeljack was ever going to join the team. Bulkhead just wasn't sure how that was going to happen with Wheeljack hopping around who-knows-where like a feather on a gusty day. He's always been that way, so untethered despite his bonds.

"He can wreck a nerve sometimes," Bulkhead finally replied, " But he's got a spark truer than most bots I've met." He looked up at the Prime, "He deserves to be on this team."

* * *

 _Sometime later_

Hot air rushing over his wings was a sensation long missed by Dreadwing. The view may be a far cry from Cybertron's gleaming towers and lit-up nights, but enjoyable nonetheless. Still, he had to keep focused. Currently, he was tasked with overseeing an energon mining operation, a site that the Autobots were notorious for disrupting. Everything seemed clear so far; there was nothing in the skies as far as his senses could detect, and if his new underlings were doing their jobs, nothing on the ground either.

"Grounders: Status Report." He ordered again through the communication channel.  
 _:: The trees are the loudest thing out here.::_ A rather cheerful, dried voice came through. GS-13 had been particularly chipper upon learning that Irestorm's proposal had been accepted for the most part, but the Seeker was starting to feel a little concerned for his psyche.

 _:: The ground here is so soft, it would be a bit difficult to get any traction. Oh but it's so calming, nice and cool. And these tiny creatures-::_

"Stay alert, Soldier."

 _::Ah- yes, of course, Captain... hey there little guy.::_

 _::No suspicious activity to report; the central operation site is clear of hostiles.::_

 _:: I bet these lackeys got totaled all the time without any real warriors to back 'em up, eh?::_ Rotor's gritty tone came through from above the mining site. Dreadwing circled a much wider circumference around the operation, while GS-13 and several vehicons were fanned out among the roots and rocks of the thick forest. Without proper defenses, it would be easy pickings for the Autobots should they ambush them from the cover of the trees.

MISSILE LOCK DETECTED

A warning suddenly blared on the Seeker's hub. Instinctively, he dove for the only cover around: the trees.  
"I've just picked up a missile lock, assume the Autobots are present!" He finished the order just before he slipped into a clearing and transformed to take cover among the towering organic plant-life. Seconds later, the whine of rocket fins slicing the air pierced his audios and the green-blue landscape was bathed in the hot light of an explosion dangerously close to his position.

 _That Wrecker!_ Dreadwing thought, remembering the Autobot he'd failed to kill in the Adromeda system. Perhaps he should finish the job, properly.

 _::We've got a bird on our east side!::_ an excited purr came from Rotor, _:: Permission to engage with gusto!::  
:: Oh dear,::  
_"Permission granted. Grounders, stay alert for enemies in your area."

Transforming once more, Dreadwing's engines flared to life and bolted him into the skies. He circled around where he could see the warbird coming from behind the hills east of the mining site. Rotor was already opening fire, dancing around the spacecraft's canon blasts as the space between them quickly closed. He transformed and his feet connected with the cockpit's shield, the impact severely cracking the surface before he pressed his face childishly against it to see the scowling Wrecker inside

"Heheheh, I'm gonna have fun with you, flippers!"

The Autobot inside said something he couldn't hear, but telling by the rude gesture he made with his digits, it wasn't exactly a plea for mercy.

* * *

"He blew our cover." Arcee ducked lower under a boulder as the pedefalls of vehicons neared, hissing under her vents.

 _::At least that's two distracted enemy warriors. We can take the vehicons, but it'll have to be quick now that they're on high alert. The Nemesis should be around soon.::_

Leaves and fallen twigs cracked nearby. The blue scout readied her blasters to take them out quick and quiet. Wheeljack may be putting on a show, but as far as they knew, the decepticons didn't know there were more guests at their door. Not yet at least.

"Ya know, this place would make for a great hang-out?" a new, dry voice peppered the air. Two vehicons walked past Arcee unsuspectingly, but a third mech, a sports-car model with a hand-held assault rifle, followed a few paces behind.

He rambled on, "I mean, it's a bit messy with all the rocks and the moss, but nothing a nice tarp can't fix. Get yourself a little music box and-"  
in one swift movement he swiveled around, weapon at the ready and aimed where Arcee had perched, but she'd already relocated to a spot just a few paces away.

"You've got yourself a nice place to lie down and take a _loong_ stasis nap." the vehicons noticed his stance and went on alert.  
"You're a clever young miss." Arcee could tell he was talking to her now, his voice rose, taking on a less chipper tone.  
" _Or maybe you're not that young,_ it's hard to tell with some bots. _I know I haven't aged as well as a_ few of my peers _._ "

She couldn't tell where he was exactly. His voice wavered in volume and strength, making focusing on the sound of carefully placed pedefalls all the more difficult. She could tell where the vehicons were though. They seemed to have no stealth training whatsoever. She'd take them easy, then engage the soldier head-on.

As soon as Arcee whipped around the trunk to fire, she caught sight of the soldier's rifle aimed right at her blasters and pulled back just in time to miss the three quick blasts whizzing past.

 _Scrap!_

The vehicons opened fire, their red beams raining down in her direction. The trunk that shielded her was being torn to shreds, and when it finally started to fall, the blue scout ran out and shot at the nearest enemy. She hit the vehicon right in the optics, shattering its visor and its processor as the condensed blasts pushed through and out the other side of the helm in the form of metallic splinters and spraying energon.

Before it's body hit the ground Arcee's hand blades were tearing through the next vehicon's neck cables, decapitating it. She then used the body to block the blasts from the other two decepticons.

"Sir, you might want to get behind me. Cover my rear I suppose." She could just make out the new decepticon's voice as he spoke to the last remaining vehicon. As soon the the firing paused, she dropped the now mangled body and continued her assault.

* * *

The wrecker was proving to be a rather formidable foe. He managed to back Rotor into a cliff side and crush him against the rocks before shaking Dreadwing from the warbird's hull using his hyperdrive.

 _:: Captain, I'm afraid I may need some back-up. We have two down with an enemy assaila-_ oof! _::_

The Seeker would have replied had he not detected another missile lock, and was already preoccupied with narrowly dodging another attempt to ram him at sound-speed. The distraction allowed the missiles fired before the rush to catch him on his left side. A bright flash of white and hot pain erupted through Dreadwing's frame and elicited a bark from the captain as smoke poured from his left engine. At the same time he could hear the eruption of explosives, which he'd managed to plant along the warbird's various canon mounts.

Tumbling chaotically, the armada captain was forced to land via controlled crash. First he transformed and slammed into a tree, snapping it like a twig. The next tree, thick and deep-rooted leaned with a shudder, but Dreadwing was able to use it to catch himself and slide down to the forest floor with his claws raking through the bark. Above him the wrecker's warbird was tumbling through the air as a giant black cloud.

Dreadwing's right leg was blown to bits; most of the outer armor had either fallen off or was scorched black. He wouldn't be flying anytime soon, and for now, his best option was to return to the mining operation nearby.

"Rotor, come in," he tried the communication channels as he half limped, half hopped his way over roots and fallen trunks. There was only silence.

"Thirteen, what is your status?"  
 _::Well... I've got some new-_ huf _... stab wounds to add to my growing collection... of lacerations.::_

"And the enemy?"

 _::Still alive but.. ahn... I don't think she's a threat anymore. There haven't been reports of any other hostiles... not sure if that's a good sign... or a bad sign.::_

The strain in the older mech's voice was undeniable. If he was injured, he'd be vulnerable without aide.  
"Are there any vehicons still functioning?" He called into the channel.  
There was a long pause of silence before he got a reply from one of the vehicons, _::I... I guess it's just me, Captain.::_

Dreadwing's wing's flared, there was definitely another scout in the area, and a skilled one to if they managed to offline the entire perimeter before anyone could contact him or the mine.  
"Are you with Ground Soldier Thirteen?"

 _::Yes, Sir.::_

"Fall back to the mine;" he ordered, "Diamond, has the Nemesis responded to our alert?"

 _::Affirmative; Lord Megatron has instructed us to "handle it".::_

There was a moment of pause which Dreadwing took to suppress the urge to curse before giving another order.  
"Prepare to hold the entrance."

* * *

 _:: I'm down,::_ Arcee's pained voice came through the communication channels.

"Hold tight Arcee, I'm sending in Bulkhead to take your place."  
Ratchet had been rushing to punch in her coordinates as soon as he detected a sudden drop in her energy signature. Bumblebee was too far away to retrieve her, but so far he's gone undetected.

"We may have to retreat," Optimus proposed, having just retreated from his own mission with Bulkhead at another mine.  
"Bumblebee, retreat to Arcee's coordinates for pick-up!"

Bumblebee chirped in acknowledgement, though his signal was already making a swift beeline for his comrade.

"What about Wheeljack?" Bulkhead paused as the groundbridge opened.  
"We must be swift Bulkhead." Optimus transformed and sped through the groundbridge with his last warrior close on his bumper. The smooth ground beneath them turned to soft, lumpy dirt as they landed in a forest clearing, but it wouldn't take long before their tires were bouncing over tree roots and spitting pebbles. Arcee was less than a klik away, and when they skidded to a stop they found her huddled against the wall of a gully. Her energon glowed bright against the dark brown soil as it trickled from her leg and pooled without soaking into the ground. Her leg itself was barely attached at the knee joint, ready to fall right off. A deep cut ran down the side of her face, more energon trickling down her chin.

Hearing their approach without seeing them, the cobalt femme had her weapons at the ready, but was clearly already feeling the effects of energon loss as she wavered. Soon enough, she recognized them and lowered her arms with a stifled sigh.

Optimus carefully lifted the femme into his arms, calling into his communicator, "Bumblebee, how long before you arrive?"

 _:: Just a klik or two, sir, Wheeljack's really laying some hate out here, ::  
_ A thunderous noise pulsed through the air, and a flurry of missile whines replied before the deep pulse sounded again.  
Bulkhead tensed even more than he already was as they made their way back to the bridge, "Am I hearing a tank?" His optics went wide with dread

 _"_ It would appear that the decepticons have fallen back to the mine for now." Optimus assessed, "Bulkhead, when we return to the ground bridge, guard the entrance until Bumblebee arrives, I will attempt to contact Wheeljack from base."  
"Got it!"

The next klik went by in a flash. The Jackhammer was still airborne, but from what Bulkhead could tell, it wouldn't wouldn't be for long. It was stained black with smoke pouring out of it, and every plasma burst sent its way threatened to drop it for good.

However, by the time Bumblebee arrived, the Jackhammer was shooting off into the blue and out of sight. A wave of relief hit Bulkhead like a gust of wind, and suddenly he felt light-headed. They would at least have a chance to get Wheeljack to join the team, but this time they'd been too close to adding another name to the long list of lost comrades.

Bulkhead quickly trudged through the groudbridge, eager to hear from his best friend again, but upon entering the silo, Optimus's tone was not gentle.

* * *

 _ **AN:**_

 _ **Review plz? ;v;**_


	5. Falter

**_[Chapter 3 - Falter]_**

The Autobots had retreated by the time Dreadwing made it back the mine's entrance. The team's wounded and dead, thankfully only vehicons, were extracted from the site. Rotor, the incapacitated cargo frame, had taken a while to regain his consciousness, but he was eventually recovered from the forest, and he complained of little more than an ache in his frame and an unsightly collection of dents and crinkles. He may not have been able to walk, but his damage was nothing life-threatening and easily reversible with time and a boosted internal repair system. Diamond remained on-site to finish overseeing the operation, leaving his new commanding officer waiting restlessly in the medibay with a half-repaired half-leg. The entire lower unit had to be removed after the damage it received from the Jackhammer's missiles, but it was salvageable. However, since Dreadwing's wounds weren't nearly as fatal, nor as complicated as Ground Soldier 013's, Dreadwing's own repairs were put on hold once his leaks were patched.

It was during this time that the former armada captain felt his normally disciplined nerves start to itch. It wasn't the first time he'd ever had to wait out his injuries, but being broken like this- essentially dysfunctional- was a state he had little tolerance for. It was one of the few traits he and his twin had shared outside of physical appearances, but for now all he could do was rest and think.

Dreadwing stood. With a grunt of effort, the seeker managed to pull himself up onto his one leg, leaning against the berth's edge for support. It took several minutes for him to shuffle and hop his way around to an open console. Inputting the usual credentials, he went straight to the ship's progress reports.

At first, the captain busied himself by keeping up-to-date with the small mining operations currently being carried out over this planet. They were test missions to gauge the effectiveness of the two teams. Everything was running rather smoothly on Irestorm's site despite having been hit around the same time. For reasons unknown, an alert never came in to the Nemesis when the incident occurred. It was only after when they had due reports that the attack was vaguely mentioned.

The fact pinched Dreadwing a little, relieved but feeling overshadowed about the differing results of their encounters. The Seeker excused it within seconds. He was proud of his former pupil's success. He and Megatron had trained her to be an efficient officer, and the Autobots were no-doubt stretched thin. By his guess of how many Autobots had engaged his operation that would not even leave a handful of leftovers to take on Irestorm.

 _But the Prime had been there!_ Dreadwing's glare at the report intensified. He caught himself wishing to have been in her place, and quickly scolded himself. These were childish thoughts.

 _Jealousy is for the desperate._

The captain let his stare break, his chest feeling hot.

There was nothing notable happening on any of the other sites. They were all making hourly reports, progressing as usual.

Dreadwing decided that it would do well to review Megatron's plans, the status of his underlings, the ship's layout and routines, but again there was nothing new, nothing he didn't already know. Frustrated, Dreadwing pulled away from the console to return to his berth. The pain rippling beneath his chestplates was swelling again, but internal scans showed no injuries or malfunctions. The Seeker felt a little helpless, being stuck with nothing to do. Patience was normally one of his virtues, one rare among Decepticons, but the mere thought of being so useless was only hyping up his nerves. Where was that damned doctor?

Eventually, Dreadwing returned to the cold slab of metal Knockout had left him on, and sat with his leg over the edge. He straightened his posture and took a deep vent, struggling to keep it even when the pain in his chest intensified, but he clenched his denta, stifled a grunt, and managed. Resting one servo in the other, the captain shuttered his optics, silenced his thoughts... or tried to.

As soon as a hint of silence was starting to come around, worries and concerns and curiosities started to roll through the Seeker like a room of unkept sparklings. It was chaotic. During their debriefing and briefing only days ago, that poisonous Arachnid had made it clear that Dreadwing's vessel would be out-of-commission until they could remove the intense presence of radiation from it's outer hull and repair the damage it was causing. Meanwhile, Irestorm had inquired about returning to the site where her ship was left in pieces, but after Megatron's expressed intentions to keep all main operations on Earth, she had not brought the topic up again, as far as Dreadwing knew.

He had hoped he would be able to talk to the Traveler about what had happened, about what she'd been doing out there, but Irestorm was always busy, always on the move through the shadows. She seemed to have little interest in interacting with him since recovering from the exposure. The Seeker had to admit that over the thousands of years since she was transferred from his mentorship to Megatron's, he had thought about her little. The first memories to be recollected were of her brash, unruliness and the times he'd risked his own safety just by being remotely accessible to her claws. He hadn't even gotten to know her name until several days after she'd arrived at his base. His processor had apparently filed her as a lethal threat.

The wonder of how he possibly managed to train such a bot, how they ever came to be comrades, elicited a chuckle from the impaired Seeker. He wanted to catch up and learn what his former pupil had accomplished since her promotion. How was her kind doing after the war? Why wasn't she with them? Before he could start digging through his memory core he was interrupted by a dry, yet oddly friendly voice.

" _Hello_?" It was Ground Soldier 013 wandering about the bay with new patches over his frame. Several dotted his abdomen, one wrapped around his neck, a particularly long one ran down his left forearm, which was supported by a brace.

The ancient bot caught sight of Dreadwing, greeting him with a salute. "Doc Knock says your leg will be ready in a bit,"

he told him with a smile. It was strange how easy it was to make 13 smile. One could be glaring daggers at him and he'd still find something to be chipper about.

"I'll be off duty for a day or two. How are you carrying, Captain?"

Dreadwing frowned to himself, still uncharacteristically bitter about his predicament, "I am merely waiting to be functional again," he answered.

"Oh, I'm sure it'll take more than a lucky missile to keep you out of commission, sir." 13 picked up a stray tool and flipped it over in his servos, "If something like that ever hit me point-blank, I'd probably deactivate on the spot."

The idea struck Dreadwing strangely. After all, it was already a practical miracle that this bot hadn't already offlined ten-times over during the war. And there he went again, praising the Seeker. And for what? Being shot out of the sky?

"What do you mean by that?" Dreadwing asked, causing the other to look up from his plaything, "What exactly has Irestorm been saying about me?"

"Oh, not much, sir," was the disappointing answer, but then the sportscar added, "I just figured such over the years of knowing her. You were already a famed Captain before I joined the Overcast, but I had never expected someone like Irestorm to give someone like you a second thought."

Dreadwing frowned again, raising his voice, "Do you insult me, soldier?"

13 held up his servos defensively, though he maintained an adoring smirk,, "Oh no, I'd never. But... back on Cybertron we were having a little conversation- she and I one day- me being a little curious about her meditation practices, and she mentioned your name. At first it didn't seem like you were anything to note," He paused to examine a button on the side to the thin object, "which isn't really surprising now that I think about it, but I asked her if she missed you, you see-"

"Miss me?" Dreadwing interrupted, raising an talon-like optic ridge. It hardly seemed like an appropriate question to ask a superior officer, but he was genuinely curious, "And... what did she say?"

"She said 'I wonder what he's doing'."

There was a moment of silence. Once again the Seeker wasn't sure how to respond to 13, he huffed dismissively. If Irestorm was curious about his whereabouts before, she certainly wasn't now.

The ground soldier looked up innocently from the zapper he was holding, "Why do you ask?"

"Hm?"

"I was wondering why you asked about the captain, sir."

It was then that the Seeker tensed again. Why did he think of Irestorm? Dreadwing's reputation would have made a reasonable assumption as to why the grounder apparently thought so highly of him. He had been the captain of one of the largest and deadliest Seeker armadas on Cybertron. And look where he was now, practically alone. The once daring voice of his brother was now forever silent, and the only other decepticon here that he had any personal history with wanted nothing to do with him.

Dreadwing scowled, "No reason, soldier." He turned away from the other, attempting to resume his meditation. Ground Soldier 013 didn't say anything else. He deactivated the zapper in his good servo and sat it back where he'd gotten it. Dreadwing heard him leave with abnormally quiet steps, and the captain was once again alone in the medibay, unnerved by the silence.

"You summoned me my liege?"

Megatron turned to face the figure entering the sparring room, who immediately knelt with a salute. A sinister grin split across his face at the sight.

"Captain Irestorm," the warlord purred, "You've been rather quiet lately."

There was no response, only a stone-faced expression from the Traveler as she kept her narrow gaze on the floor.

Megatron continued, "About your latest mission to oversee one of our northern operations: The mine was attacked, and yet you did not contact the ship. Do you care to explain?"

"There was no need, my liege."

"No need?" The silver mech circled Irestorm slowly, every step daring her to make a wrong move, "Optimus was there, was he not a threat?"

"The Prime and his warrior were unable to penetrate our defenses. They retreated."

"You did not engage them yourself? Surely that bumbling brute of his would have been worth getting rid of."

To that, Irestorm didn't say a thing, but her expression was unchanging. It could go unsaid that her mission had been to oversee the mine, not to hunt Autobots, although it was a given that Megatron wanted them all dead or conquered more than anything. Nonetheless, Megatron was curious. He'd seen her feats, how ruthless she could be even without orders.

"I can't help but notice how passive you've been since coming to this planet." Megatron paused in front of the Traveler, dangerously close. The traveler kept silent, her gaze trained on the floor.

"Aside from your hasty arrangements about your crew's reassignment, and the debriefings, you've barely uttered a word. If my optics were malfunctioning I'd bareley be able to distinguish you from Soundwave himself.

"I imagine you are troubled, having to abandon your ship so accidentally," he explored. "Or perhaps _Arachnid_ has a firmer grip on you than I initially believed. Tell me, captain, are you troubled?"

"My feelings on are mixed, my liege," Irestorm answered simply, giving no implication that she sought to elaborate. He was certain, however that the issue was elaborate. He would not overlook her so easily. He knew better.

The Warlord turned to walk away putting some space between them.

"Rise, Irestorm." He hissed and faced her from across the room as she obeyed, "I'll have you understand that such _acts_ do not fool me, Irestorm. You will face me, and prove to me that you are rightfully feared, as I have taught you to be."

The warlord's blade was unsheathed with a jab at the air. Irestorm stood, her optics resting gently on the blade aimed for her spark.

"I assume you intend for me to use deadly force, my liege?" She asked, her tone cold and unaffected. The Warlord only smirked. Any other soldier would insist their worth and loyalty. They'd cower, surrender, maybe even flee. He looked forward to having a battle worthy of such confidence.

"You think you can beat me?" Megatron tested, teased really. She knew the weight of his question.

Their optics locked, red on red, and he could feel his backstruts tightening in anticipation as Irestorm's next words purred through an audaciously subtle smirk.

"Is that a challenge, my liege?"

—

"Are you finished _yet_?" Dreadwing stifled a hiss as Breakdown ran final scan on his refitted leg. The Seeker himself was running his own internal scans.

"The component is fitted, Doctor. Clear me for duty!"

"Alright, _alright_..." Knockout chuckled while looking down at a datapad, which only made Dreadwing more vexed. First the pathetic sportscar takes forever to attach the limb, now he was completely engrossed at that stupid data pad.

Dreadwing stood, setting his food down sternly against the metallic floor. It was probably his stature blocking the light more than the sound that startled the puny medic. Knockout yelped and Breakdown growled as Dreadwing snatched the pad away but he paid them no mind. What could possibly be so much more worth the doctor's attention? Some human program?

Much to the Seeker's surprise, he was more shocked than disappointed. Displayed on the screen was a live stream from one of the ship's sparring rooms where Irestorm and Lord Megatron were fighting practically to the death.

" _What_!?" It wasn't long before Knockout's latest patient went stomping out the medibay's doors, his spark pulsing painfully fast. _What could she possibly be thinking?!_

Unfortunately, his path was blocked before he could even round a corner. Diamond could have a successful career as a mobile steel alloy wall if he weren't more useful as a warrior. He was currently one more nuisance to add to Dreadwing's list.

"Good evening Captain Dreadwing, today's mining operation has progressed successfully into the fifth-"

" _Yes_ I read the report, get out of my way." Dreadwing started to walk around the tanker, but found the other sidestepping into his path again, this time scanning the Seeker as though he were sick. Why a brute warrior like Diamond had a medical scanner was beyond Dreadwing.

"I am detecting elevated internal temperatures and symptoms of prolonged stress, have you been cleared to leave the medibay, sir?"

The Seeker growled at the insubordination, "Know your place, _Autobot_." He shoved past the shorter mech, ignoring the question and continuing on with a flare in his wings.

After spending so long trapped in the medibay, all he wanted to do was launch from the deck and fly again, but he couldn't ignore the sparring feed. Was Megatron punishing her for not reporting the attack on her operation sooner? He doubted that was the case given the reaction to his own distress call, but what could it be then?

It didn't take long for him to reach his destination, even before the doors to the sparring room were open he could feel the exchange of blows through the floor. Of course, Dreadwing hesitated. Did he really dare to interrupt his master?

As if to answer his question, or dare him to seek one, there was a silence that fell behind the door, as if whomever was inside simply ceased to exist. Dreadwing tuned his audio receptors to listen. But he could detect nothing beyond the dark doors.

Terrible thoughts ran through his processor, and for a moment, the blue and gold seeker was frozen cold with trepidation. His chest felt ready to burst.

A klik or two passed before the hiss of the bay doors snapped the captain out of his deadlocked stupor. He found himself staring at a freshly battered chest plate, not sure how to process anything at first.

"Captain," The deep, stony voice he had yet to become familiar with grabbed him like a firm servo around his neck. Dreadwing snapped his gaze up to meet the Traveler's red optics. There was no hint of fear or terror, nothing that would imply she were being punished just moments ago.

Instead it was _him_ who was frozen.

 _Him_ who's field was buzzing with absolute confusion and dread.

It was _he_ who flinched at the slightest tap of a claw against his helm plating.


	6. Ignition

**_Chapter 4: Ignition_**

 _Irestorm quickly pulled back, narrowly dodging a swipe at her neck before making a jab of her own. Megatron copied her with spiked teeth gleaming behind a none-too familiar smirk as her claws missed his cables. They both paused for a moment, each taking advantage of the other's decision to rest, though neither relaxed. Their optics locked, the only sound in the room being their vents cycling hard and internal systems groaning in it's efforts to persevere through the brutal trauma of their spar.  
The traveler herself was well acquainted with Megatron's sadistic style. He was toying with her, they way a predator might toy with its prey, wearing it out, making it suffer. And slag was she suffering. Her frame ached all over from the trauma of his successful blows, her internal repairs were on high alert and rushing nanobots to every injury as they came. She had dealt quite a bit of damage herself, evidenced by the various tears in the warlord's plating and the limp in his gait. It was the result of her flinging him across the room by his leg, twisting a stabilizer in the process._

 _However, unlike Irestorm, Megatron took a sick pleasure in pain. To him, the howl of a wound was like the spice of an energon treat. A mere challenge for his senses. What else could one expect from a warlord millions of stellar cycles old?_

 _The traveler set her pedes on the floor, claws tensing again. Although her opponent's optics were boring right into hers, it was clear he was scanning her movement as well, predicting her next attack, calculating several counters. She could see it in the shift of his weight, the curl of his hooked shoulder plating, the cycling of his optics. They were both gladiators, conquerors of the Pits of Kaon. As they stood locked in a daring stare of infinite potential, for a moment they were equals... and enemies, with no other objective than to survive pleasing the crowd._

 _Irestorm lurched forward, splaying her claws again. Megatron prepared to counter, servos swooping towards her wrists when she suddenly jerked back. In the split moment it took for the mech to recover, Irestorm slipped a servo over her shoulder, gripping one of two hilts jutting from her backside, and pulled out a heavy blade armored along the spine and designed to withstand plunging into the toughest armor. With a flick of her wrist she shifted her weight back to keep herself level in case she missed, and as her first blade went for Megatron's chest plating, her other servo was reaching over her other shoulder for the second hilt._

 _Megatron reacted quickly, letting himself fall to his knee to tilt his frame just enough to evade being sliced open and immediately guarded with his own blade. The impact of their weapons drew a grunt from the ancient mech, both of them temporarily blinded by the bright sparks flying from the point of collision. His impaired stabilizer made his guard unsteady, but Irestorm kept the pressure on, forcing the mech to stay down until she was prepared to strike with the weapon in her right servo._

 _With a roar, Megatron threw her pressing blade aloof as her other servo was swinging down, before she could effectively draw back, his whole body spun, and a fist snapped against her left audio. The traveler was thrown back, her optic shutters slamming shut to protect from the blow as she was thrown to the ground with a painful ring in her audios. She let herself roll, blades spilling from her servos as Megatron charged. The traveler found her footing whilst still on the ground. She kept her body low, claws planted and ready to pounce...  
_

* * *

When the two gladiators came to their final freeze, it was clear who had the upper servo. Irestorm was locked into a hold with her left arm twisted against her backside, her swords lodged in the ceiling, and her neck pinned between Megatron's blade and his purring voice at the back of her helm. Several lights were busted as a result of their combat, one of many collateral damages the vehicons would have to repair.

"How interesting," Megatron growled over the whine of his own systems compensating for the abuse of the battle. His grip may be painfully tight, but his exhaustion was clear in the way every moment trembled with effort. Irestorm was held in place for a few kliks, waiting for Megatron's assessment.

"So much has changed with you; your style is rather... blunt, yet precise, I would think there were no joy in it were it not for your constant purring." She could hear the smirk in his voice as he pressed the blade closer against her neck, forcing her helm to cock further upward and threatening to sever one of the cables if not snap her arm right off. The purr in the back of the traveler's throat only intensified, it was not something she had the option of controlling directly.

Irestorm didn't say a word, her vents cycling fast to bring down her core temperature. She silenced whatever thoughts she had, keeping the rings of her optics hidden behind a blank slate of red. The traveler let her self relax, a silent surrender, and in return his grip loosened.

Eventually, Megatron retracted his blade, letting her go and pulling away. Raising his canon, he shot a single blast at the ceiling, effectively toppling Irestorm's weapons from where they were plunged into the structural beam. They clattered to the ground, and she retrieved them quietly, sliding the blades back into their sheaths.

Yes, unlike Megatron, pain was not something the traveler enjoyed, but a strong opponent is rarely measured by their gentle touches. As much as she wished her instincts would quell, it was only in her coding to treat such mastery as a statement of suitability.  
Megatron was very suitable, and she could never deny that there was much appeal to find in the warlord.  
But that was not on the table for a variety of reasons, some of which she intended to keep from his awareness for as long as possible. There was no room for such pointless distractions, even if he insisted on enjoying the temptation.

The traveler rolled her shoulders, checking the alignment of her protoform. Some parts were already stiff with the amount of repairs being concentrated in the area. A strong wave of wary relief washed through her as the warlord stepped away, strolling towards the other side of the massive sparring space with a broken gait. Soundwave waited by the bay doors there, supposedly to make a report directly to his master.

"You've convinced me for now," the Warlord hissed to her as she stood to regain her own posture. The movement was painful, but not alarming. As brutal as their session had been, it was nothing their systems couldn't handle without medical aid.

"Do me a favor and teach that Arachnid a lesson will you?" Megatron didn't face the femme as he spoke, his tone already half-attentive. She didn't look at him either, not sure how to interpret such a request. Despite their history, Irestorm could never really distinguish between the warlord's sadistic jokes and the dark promises and demands he simply enjoyed a little more than the average tyrant.

Regardless of her master's meaning, Irestorm had no intention of carrying anything of the sort out at the moment. It could be left unsaid that she was dismissed, and so she put the warlord out of her processor and tread toward the bay doors she'd first entered through.

A visit to the wash racks was in order, that much was certain, but the femme was well aware of the Seeker that had been standing outside the bay doors since before Megatron had won their little spar. Apparently Dreadwing was bothered by something, by what she was not certain, but hoped to get it over and done with in a timely manner.

When the exit shifted open, Irestorm was not at all surprised to find the blue and gold seeker waiting there, but an optic ridge rose at the petrified expression on his face. He was frozen still, optics wide in fright, and when she called his name in an attempt to prompt an explanation, he only flinched and continued to stare up at her as if she were a spawn of Unicron himself.

And so, the traveler did what she'd thought was no longer natural to her, a gesture that could only be explained as a long-buried habit jumping at the first opportunity to live again. Without really thinking about it until she'd done it, Irestorm lifted a claw to the Seeker's forehelm, and she gave a few gentle taps to the black and blue crest resting between two fearful orbs of red.

* * *

 _ **AN:**_

 _I'm terrible at writing fight scenes, I but I felt it was important to show for some reason, not sure if it did what I wanted it to do, but that's what I got :/_

 _This turned out flirtier than I intended._

 _When you unintentionally create a love triangle in your non-romance story_

 _This isn't a love story guys, I promise._

 _It's... it's not_ supposed _to be._

 _Megatron, what do you think you're doing_


	7. Dread

There was a stiff silence that hung in the air between the two deceptions. Dreadwing's processor was spinning just trying to figure out what to say. Coming here had been a terrible decision, for he had no idea what he intended to do when he was before the traveler.

"I... Knockout was watching a live feed from the sparring room surveillance system. I was concerned that you had drawn the ire of our master." His voice only gained it's typical composure and strength midway through his sentence. He stepped back to let the femme out of the room, and she entered the long, dim corridor with a cautious slowness in her gait.

"Megatron was merely administering a test. There's no need for concern." Irestorm paused, half-turned from him, as though considering leaving him there, but Dreadwing was too lost in the nonsense of his own thoughts to really notice anything she was doing.

"I'm going to the wash racks, perhaps you'd like to join me," she said simply.

Dreadwing opened his intake to speak, but found that he had nothing worth verbalizing. Instead he nodded and followed behind as she stalked down the long corridor. As they walked he could sense in an edge in her E.M field. It was probably just residual tension from her session with Megatron. He could only imagine facing the warlord as a truly frightening experience, even for the level-minded.

Their walk was a quiet one, and in all honesty, Dreadwing had no idea what Irestorm would want him to join her for. Did she want to know about her former subordinates? Any updates of his latest mission? The Seeker tried to prepare himself in any way he could, occasionally checking his surroundings for anything that might be out of the ordinary. As a captain, and as a decepticon, it had become a habit to suspect that any given location could be compromised. He held a very valuable position, and often had to handle incidents ranging from the careless mistakes of rookies to attempts on his life by autobots and decepticons alike.

It was an unwritten rule to never fully trust someone with your safety, even those next to you. Even among the Seekers there were those who would dishonor themselves in perusing their ambition or some benefit in betraying their peers. And of course, one had be wary of spies. Dreadwing found himself watching Irestorm's back, how she seemed to be completely unconcerned for his presence. Did she really trust him enough? Even though the Seeker was known for his loyalty to his principles- and to the cause- most made it a habit to always be able to see those around them if they could help it, and Irestorm had not glanced back once.

Dreadwing couldn't decide whether to be flattered or disappointed when the traveler suddenly came to a halt. Dreadwing stopped himself just short of running into her, but a state of alarm suddenly washed over him, as though someone had pulled out a canon and aimed it for his face. Before he could reason why, the Seeker took several steps back. Only then did he remember, how dangerous a backside could be. The memory file rushed to the forefront of his processor, eliciting phantom sensations of being impaled all over after entering a room unannounced or attempting to restrain a furious youngling.

Back then Irestorm had been small, now, she could easily deactivate him by accident if she had the same nerves as back then.

Once he'd gotten over his fright, and let his jet wings fall from their flared position, Dreadwing looked to see what had caused the traveler to stop the way that she did, noticing the bay doors to the wash racks were right across an adjacent corridor. Irestorm stood quietly as a cluster of vehicons passed. They hesitated at first, but when she didn't do or say anything, they scampered through her shadow and proceeded down the corridor with hushed mumblings.

Dreadwing raised an optic ridge, "For sparkless machines, the vehicons do exhibit rather unrefined behavior," he chided. He'd never found vehicons useful anything more than grunt work. They may be unquestioning of their superiors and efficient in executing their tasks, but they were hardly resilient, adaptable or reliable in matters of judgement. It was no wonder the Autobots had become so confident in their assaults on Decepticon operations, expecting to take an entire mine with just two scouts.

Once the cluster had passed, Irestorm continued and crossed the hall to let the scanner on the access pad sweep over her optics and receive her IP designation. Soon the bay doors hissed open, allowing the two inside to enter the spacious room within. The traveler stalked to one of the farther shower heads and pulled one of the hoses down.

"Would you like to assist me?" she reached back to slide hilted swords from their sheaths with one serve while offering the seeker a washing cloth already wet with solvent.  
"Of course," Dreadwing took it, stepping into the rack and under the softly spraying solvent as Irestorm leaded the heavy weapons against the wall. It wasn't until he felt the fluid running over his chassis that he realized just how long it had been since he'd had a proper cleaning. The seeker's jet wings shivered at the thought of being clean again, especially after running through a dirty, organic world and still being stained by the smoke from the fire that had spewed from his engine hours before. Irestorm started to hose down her broad shoulders and long arms, using the narrower settings on the nozzle to get between seams. The energon freshly spilled from her recent sparring session was swept away easily, but the stains long dried on her plating would require some scrubbing.

"You've been irritable lately," the tall erokt grumbled, focusing the hose on her left wrist and servo components.  
Dreadwing had started to work on Irestorm's upper back, nimble digits working to remove the old grime from a complex series of plating. He was still a little tense around her backside, but the invitation had assured him that she would not mind the touch.

"I would not think you had noticed," he admitted to both to her and himself with an edge in his tone.

"You'll need to correct such behavior, lest you become a hazard to yourself," the femme bit back without missing a beat, and he hated having to stop himself from flinching.

She was only right. Impulsiveness has been the downfall of many great warriors, and the thought of such elicited a painful reminder of Skywarp. Of Starscream's foolishness.

With a distasteful frown taking his expression, The blue and gold seeker finished wiping of a patch of dried energon away, moving down to the traveler's right shoulder blade, which had fresh cuts and dents along the light-grey plate as if Megatron had attempted to rip it right off.  
"Might I inquire as to Megatron's reason for... _testing_ you?" the Seeker asked, making sure not to strain the damaged piece as he cleaned it. He'd noticed Irestorm occasionally tense under his touch. She'd pause thoughtfully for moment then continue cleaning her abdominal armor or joint hydraulics without a word. They were very subtle changes that were painfully familiar.

The two captains continued to clean as the traveler eventually answered.  
"Megatron and I have not had contact with one another for thousands of years. Much can change during that time and I've been meaning to keep my presence small as a precaution. Our master took it as a sign of weakness."

Dreadwing listened, only growing more curious. Of course a small presence would be seen as a sign of weakness. What other reason would one have for making themselves small than to hide from those who may destroy them? His claws worked meticulously down the femme's backside, getting every nook and cranny with the wash cloth."You're a captain, Irestorm, what benefit would there be to making yourself small? A leader makes themselves known and leaves no doubt in their ability to deliver on their word." Dreadwing watched the way the traveler's plating shifted at the response, but wasn't quite sure what it meant.

"Tell me Dreadwing," the femme rumbled, spraying the solvent against her neck cables and between her jaw joints, "How well would you say you knew Megatron?" The way she spoke was both eerily similar and drastically different from the Warlord in question. Where Megatron held a knowing and scheming edge about his questions that invited an immediate answer, Irestorm's inquiries weighed heavily on the mind, almost with warning. Yet their words had the same likeness to them. On a screen they might even be near-indistinguishable from one another.

The Seeker paused, caught off-guard. At first, he was certain of his answer: Of course! He was one of Megatron's most loyal soldiers. He knew of the many ways Megatron had benefited Cybertron, of his feats and accomplishments, of his policy of equality and freedom that kicked off the Decepticon movement, that had created entire societies that thrived and swelled before Cybertron died. But alas, these were things _about_ Megatron. While Dreadwing's loyalty to the Warlord was unwavering, the seeker had rarely personally been in Megatron's presence. His climb through the ranks had been mostly his own doing, and his success as an Armada Captain had prompted little need for guidance or correction. As such he was left to command his armada as he pleased.

"Since I've been on earth," the jet answers, "Megatron has been a trying leader. He's efficient in rooting out weakness in his officers. It is why the Decepticons have been victors of the war until that Prime came along and destroyed everything."

Dreadwing wrings out his rag as he speaks, listening to the solvent splatter loudly against the wrack floor between occasional pauses in his answer.  
"I know him as well as I need to in order to properly carry out his will and serve the cause." He was abruptly reminded of another time during his mentorship of the onyx traveler, of when she'd scoff at his praise for the Warlord, even openly mock Megatron. Had she really retained such attitudes until now?

The seeker wasn't sure where she was going with this, what she intended to imply, but she did not elaborate on the matter. Instead there was a thoughtful rumble from her throat- a hum- as she continued to clean dirt from her frame.

Long kliks of silence flowed between them. Dreadwing eventually made it down to her relatively small pedes, kneeling to reach worn claws and sturdy sling mechanisms when a loud _crak_ startled him. He looked up to find Irestorm snapping things back into place: a shoulder unit here, a jaw piece there.

"You're certain you don't need medical assistance?" the mech suggested, standing back to his full height. Irestorm curled her back, spines peeking out to glint at the seeker before disappearing into their holds. A flinch shot through the Seeker at the sight of them before he could stop it, and he grunted through clenched denta only to freeze when he noticed her gaze on him from over her shoulder.

 _This is ridiculous!_ The captain thought to himself. He was not _afraid_ of _Irestorm!_ He was a mech of prestige, admired for his bravery and wit, and her senior no less!-

The press of something soft against his helm plating jarrs the Seeker from his internal scolding. Irestorm had turned to him with a stone-faced expression, her right servo holding a wash cloth as it caressed the navy blue helm armor that swooped over his left audio and hooked outward from his jawline.

He was stuck, optics unable to tear away from hers, arms held aloof at his sides. His energon shot hot, then freezing cold, as if a bolt of lightling had hit him, but all he could do was tremble and stare like frightened turbopup. The of his plating rattling over the hiss of the shower mortified the Seeker, shame and embarrassment making his vents stutter.

It wasn't until Irestorm's servo drew away slightly and an aback-taken look tugged her faceplates that the jet found it in himself to break optic contact. He stepped out of the rack, frightened by the sound of his own pedes clattering against the metal flooring.

 _"Dreadwing!"_


	8. The Landing Deck

Dreadwing wishes he could purge the next few kliks from his memory core. He'd fled the wash racks with a spinning, aching, spark. The sense of perilous danger was all around him but he could not identify the cause. Irestorm's residual growl followed after him, and a quick snap of her plating, enough to shake most of the solvent from her frame, shocked his audios. The Seeker had taken no such liberty, and entered the long dim corridors of the Nemesis with puddles forming at his pedes with every step.

Long pointless story short, the two high-ranking officers ended up on one of the landing decks, one that was not planned to be in use for the rest of the night. Irestorm herded the Seeker here despite his panicked resistance, and convinced him to sit under the stars. Dreadwing's optics stuck to the decking as Irestorm sat across from him, her crimson optics pinning his shoulders down. It was as if she were daring him to continue his childish fit. When she finally spoke, there was no spite in her voice, but a clear stiffness was present.

 _It was a very uncomfortable situation._

"I have reason to suspect you haven't had the proper time to mourn, Captain," she rumbled. The Seeker's helm shot up.  
" _Mourn?"_ he said defensively, "I have long since accepted the perishing of my twin."

"Then how would you explain having a nervous breakdown after one simple mission since being on Earth?"

Dreadwing flinched and looked down again. Hearing those words, and worse realizing the truth in them, only brought him more shame. He was failing miserably. Was he really so weak? The Seeker couldn't bare the thought, his processor shot back to the wash racks, how she'd touched him in such a gentle way. That's what had set it all off, how had he been expected to react? Such gestures were... well, the _weren't._ Decepticons don't do such things.

"It... I just don't understand," he started with a stutter, pretending to be more upset about it than he was, still unable to look at the other, "Why did you touch me like that? It was entirely inappropriate."

Irestorm raised an optic ridge, an expression he was quickly coming to equivulate to _what the hell is wrong with you?_  
"You still had ash on your face plates," was the simple answer that he knew would only humiliate him further. _They_ had _been in the wash racks,_ he figured, _but he was not the one getting cleaned, she should have warned him._

"Dreadwing," Irestorm continued, "Have you been seeking me out?"

This time the blue and gold seeker froze, offended at first, but paused to evaluate his behavior over the past few days. He's admitted that he's been irritable, but he hadn't thought that his behavior was that easy to read. He felt like a sparkling all over again, not even being aware of his own actions, let alone why he did them.

"I... " he couldn't answer because he didn't know. He knew that his spark has been flaring and trembling in it's casing, he knew that being alone brought a biting coldness running through him like it never had before. He knew that Irestorm's attention, the mere thought of her voice had suddenly become the only comfort he could think of for the past several Earth days. But he had no idea if he was actively seeking her company. He really hasn't been paying attention to himself lateley. In fact he was avoiding it.

Even now he could not ignore that the burning, pinching flares in his chest had become less frequent, but what was he supposed to say? His servos trembled just at the fact that he could not formulate a satisfying answer.

"May I ask you something?" the Seeker proposed instead, there was a long pause before before she gestured for him to continue.

"I recall that before we had met long ago, you and your brother had been split from each other. You lost him in more ways than one..." He bit his claws into the plating of his thighs, forcing them to still, "How did you... endure it?"

He could feel her gaze burning into him like sunlight through a lense, and the fighter jet started to worry that he had strayed into inappropriately personal territory. Before she could reply, he sought to justify himself, though he questioned the relevance of his words even as they left his intake.

"It is just that... I had a fluctuation of our visit to one of Kaon's detainment halls, but the details were... inaccurate."  
"Inaccurate?" Irestorm asked.  
"You were armed, you were crying, and I was.. so clueless the entire time. I felt like a fool."

The erokt gave pause to think about his words, and even Dreadwing realized that there might be some value to his confession. He has always held the belief that dreams and fluxes could hold meaning. The Seeker just never thought he'd have to rely on them to solve any of his problems. _If it could._ He recalled the true events of that day; he had not left Irestorm's side, and upon seeing what had become of her brother, the young erokt snatched his blade off his back and attempted to stab through the cell bars in rage, but he'd successfully drawn her away.

 _Always so angry,_ Dreadwing thought, but this time he could not blame her for it.

When Irestorm spoke again, her voice was oddly soothing, "I've revealed to you before that despite popular belief, Zero and I were only trinemates, not twins." The rumble of her vocals seemed to coax the tension from Dreadwing shoulders, and he nodded to confirm that he remembered the fact. He was well aware that split sparks were very different from those bonded upon creation.

"The process of being disconnected was a violent and painful one," she continued, "And afterward I was psychologically troubled for quite some time..."  
She went silent.

"And?" Dreadwing prompted, dissatisfied with the answer, but when he looked up, she was staring at the decking, her claws gripping armored knee guards. He couldn't make sense of her expression; they were not etched with hints of spite nor slanted by stifled saddness, there was only a thoughtful stony narrowing of her optics and flattening of the line of her maw. She finally looked up at him, and for once there was no tension in their optics meeting, but, he could not find it in himself to maintain the contact for long.

"I can't say for certain that what you're experiencing now is remotely comparable. After all, the circumstances were very different, and you and I have always handled things differently, Dreadwing."

"But-"  
"What I do know is that if you continue like this, you will become a weakness in Megatron's optics, and I will not settle for you using me as an emotional crutch for whatever reason. You can certainly do better than that."

The cold words stung his audios, but the Seeker felt that they shouldn't have. She was right, but he felt like a helpless youngling for nodding in agreement. What was he supposed to do? Not even his own thoughts were familiar to him, and every time he reached out instinctively for that other half, his spark only snapped back in fury and awe at the lack of itself.

Dreadwing's gaze fell to the floor again, "I suppose I should meditate on the matter." The proposal was empty despite himself, for he normally looked forward to meditation, but right now the option felt like a white flag.

"See to it that you do," Irestorm agreed, getting to her pedes, "I don't want to see you hovering about me from now on, not if you're going to be a nervous wreck, is this understood?"

Dreadwing only nodded again, and Irestorm paused before walking away, but the navy and gold jet did not look up to see anything but the movement of her pedes. She walked trudged away, leaving him on the landing deck with a knot of unprecedented loneliness tightening in his chest.

And he just realized that he'd left his weapons in Knockout's laboratory.


	9. Behind Closed Doors

Irestorm sat on the floor of her private quarters, laying out her weapons. Two identical blades, thick and heavy, have extinguished so many sparks, though they were clean, they still carried the blood of thousands. _And more to come_.

Irestorm pinched her nose bridge, she knew what she was here for: kill Megatron, retrieve Optimus. Two steps to restoring cybertron that were audaciously easier to say than to do. It was a good thing the erokt knew how to choose her battles. Megatron may be anchient, but he was just as cruel and biting now as when they'd first met. Or rather, when she'd first witnessed his strength. He already had his optic on her, and no-doubt considered her a potential challenger to his power. It would be foolish to imply anything but loyalty to his rule.

The Traveler straightened her back and let a long exvent slide from her cooling systems.

And then there was Dreadwing. Miraculously still online after so long being presumed otherwise, but he was different, _broken._ She could not afford becoming distracted in trying to fix him, especially considering where his loyalties were set.

The erokt put the seeker out of mind, reaching her spark out along its established bonds, the safest form of communication, even if a very limited one.

 _ **-Status report,**_ She ordered, noting that several bonds had been severed since she last used them.

/ _I'm still alive, if anyone's wondering._ was the first sarcastic reply. Then another ping came in.

 _/That's hardly difficult to figure, but you're nowhere in sight, Captain._

 _ **-I'm on planet Earth with several others**_ _,_ Irestorm informed them. She felt their curiosity peak over the connection.

 _/Planet Earth?... I've heard something about that place, it's supposed to be valuable, a classified topic._

 _/You should make use of that Sleeper, Primus knows he's only good for canon fodder._

 _ **-Skyquake is dead**_ _._

Once again they were intrigued. One of the connections bubbled with amusement, the other puzzled.

 _/Those two really did just lay down and die didn't they?  
_ / _And what killed him?_

Irestorm explained the situation of Skyquake's death, and Dreadwing's involvement. Sufficed to say, her bondmates were tickled by the irony of which twin was alive and which had perished. Even if one of them was already fully aware that the humbler twin had recently been confirmed functioning.

 _/No-no this is good! Dreadwing would be more satisfying to snuff anyways. Him and Megatron, have you done it yet?_

 **-** _ **The risk of making an attempt is far too high at the moment**_ _.  
/You just don't want to hurt your favorite little seeker's feelings._

Irestorm stiffened, unable to stop the offense spiking through the bond. She could feel him cackling on the other side, wherever he was.

 _/Do not worry, dear sister, once I get over there, I will finish them for you. That glitched loyalist will go as quickly and painlessly as I can manage._ There was sarcasm, but only near the end of that relay.

 _/ And the Prime?_

 **-** _ **He's here, hiding among the Earthlings.**_ _  
/OH, I will be there soon.  
_  
Irestom decided she'd had enough of her 'brother's' amusement, and cut off the bond, focusing on the others listening in on the broadcast.

 _ **-Pinpoint, you've been silent, what have you discovered?**_ __

The reply was held off for a moment, and she could feel his excited hesitance and conviction forming through the bond.

 _/I have reason to believe we are in an alternate state of existence, another dimension if you will._

 _ **-How do you figure?**_ _  
_  
 _/Dreadwing did not retrieve us when he salvaged you,_ the scientist began, _At first I didn't think much of it, but then one of the others noticed the two halves of our ship phasing through each other, and so it stands to reason that he was unable to detect us, and assumed we were destroyed.  
_  
Two halves? Very good news. Irestorm leaned forward to rest her chin on tense knuckles, her processor swimming with consideration. The scientist's fascination was predictable, but she was more interested in a remedy to the problem.

 **-** _ **Your half of the ship contains the groundbridges.**_ _  
/Precisely, with their space-folding capabilities, we should be able to find a way to generate an inter-dimensional gate, however... without a spacebridge, chances of generating a gate large enough to transport the entire half of the ship are... well, uncalculated. Overcharge has yet to be resuscitated._

 _ **\- A spacebridge is currently in the process of being built here on Earth, but it may not be complete for another year, give or take a month.**_ __

 _/We're certainly equipped to last that long, but we have no way of maintaining nor protecting the other half of the Overcast._

 _ **\- Manage as much as you can, and keep me updated,**_ **Irestorm ordered,** _ **I will evaluate my options from here.**_ __

 _/Understood._

Their conversation ended, and Irestorm pulled out of the broadcast. She sat and thought for a little bit about everything; Dreadwing's vulnerability, the state of her authority, Megatron's priorities, Soundwave, Airachnid, _her pitt-spawn brother and his ludicrous obsessions_. She had to factor all of it into her next steps.

Eventually, the erokt stood, sheathing her weapons once more, and standing to exit her quarters.

 _/Awaiting orders, Captain._

 **-Inform Piston of his new mission. Pick an appropriate setting.**


End file.
